It's Complicated
by AndItsOuttaHere
Summary: An unsettling surprise awaits Winona at her mother's place in Florida. One that just might require the attention of a certain U.S. Marshal.
1. Who's the Blonde Stranger?

_This story begins where S4 ended. Alternating viewpoints again. First..Winona._

Ch. 1 Who's the Blonde Stranger?

After changing planes and enduring a three-hour layover in Atlanta, the practically empty Sarasota-Bradenton terminal was the answer to my prayers. My eyes swept the waiting area looking for my mother as the Marshal who'd accompanied me on the plane at Raylan's insistence came to a halt beside me.

"Winona!" I heard a familiar voice shout. "Winona!"

There she was. Mama moved through the crowd of tan, well-dressed senior citizens with a lively grace, waving wildly as if I wouldn't have already spotted her. Stopping in front of me she held me at arms' length, then pulled me in for a fierce hug.

"Oh sweetheart! I'm so glad you're here!" She leaned in, smelling of Chanel #5, and kissed my cheek. "You look wonderful." She was being kind. My feet were swollen, I was rumpled from the flight, my hair was already frizzing with the damn Florida humidity, and there was a coffee stain on my dress.

As usual, she was perfect from her shoulder-length silver blonde hair down to her recently pedicured toes. She was wearing a bright pink blouse with lipstick to match and white capris. The low heels on her strappy pink sandals were the only acquiescence to the arthritis in her knees that I knew bothered her a little more each year. "It's good to see you, Mama," I said.

She linked her arm through mine. "Let's go get your luggage."

"This is Deputy Marshal Matt Killian," I gestured to the the young man behind me who nodded in greeting. "He's going to stick around for a day or two until I get settled in and we're sure everything's alright."

She looked him up and down. "What is he? Twelve?" She asked, as if he wasn't right there listening. Clucking her tongue she went on. "Why didn't Raylan come himself if he's so worried about you being safe?"

I blew out a breath and rolled my eyes. Matt caught it and cracked a smile for the first time all day. "Raylan has some things to take care of," I told her. "His father just died and he's dealing with selling the house and he just finished up a really big case so there's a lot of paperwork to do." I left out the part about him being suspended.

"Is that the case that almost got you and my granddaughter killed?" Mama chided. "Now I've always liked Raylan, you know I have, but he brings that damn job home with him and..."

"Raylan's the reason the baby and I are alright. He's good at his job, Mama. It's...it's..." The weight of the past few days came down on me. I sighed and felt my shoulders drop. "Can we not talk about this right now?"

She didn't answer as we stepped onto the escalator down to baggage claim, then her hand slipped around mine, squeezing. "I just love you, 'Punkin'."

I squeezed back. "I love you, too."

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

I jolted awake as we turned off the narrow causeway and rounded the curve onto Anna Maria. Mama smiled at me. "Did you have a nice nap? You never could stay awake in the car. Your daddy used to put you in the car seat and drive around to get you to sleep at night."

I nodded and listened to her prattle on as we crossed the last bridge onto the island. It had changed a bit since I'd been here last, right after I'd left Raylan the first time. Some things, like the hand-lettered sign marking the sandy, crushed-shell road leading back to the Sandbar restaurant and the beach beyond, were still familiar, but other buildings had sprung up or been painted or torn down. New shops lined the main street and the pier had been widened. Benches and picnic tables stood in rows along the sides.

The blue-green waters of Tampa Bay stretched out in front of us as we came to the end of the street. If I squinted, I could see the bridge we'd just crossed as we left the airport. Mama made another turn and passed several more restaurants and shops before the street turned residential. The houses on the left backed into the bay. The one she'd inherited from her grandfather was old Florida. Concrete block painted pale yellow, with bougainvillea vines trailing up one side and sparkling white hurricane shades pulled up from the windows.

Mama pulled in the driveway behind a red pick-up truck. I raised an inquiring eyebrow. She avoided my gaze, dropped her keys into her purse and opened the door. "We can get your bags later." She shaded her eyes with one hand and glanced down the street where Matt had pulled his grey rented sedan up to the curb. "Is he just going to sit out there in his car all the time?"

"I don't know. I've never had a protection detail before," I lied. "I'd imagine he's getting a feel for the neighborhood."

I picked up my purse from the floor where I'd had it wedged between my feet and followed her up the narrow stone path to the door. The minute she pushed it open there was the thud of feet and the click of claws on tile and a gigantic monster of a dog careened into the entryway almost knocking over the vase of daisies on the end table.

"Stella! Sit!" Mama commanded. The animal sat instantly, although her paws still scratched against the floor. She whined and mama petted her head. "Stella's just a big old baby," Mama cooed. "Aren't you?" The dog's huge tail thumped on the floor like a hammer.

"When did you get a dog?" I stammered. Mama hated dogs. Cats, too, for that matter. Gayle and I were never allowed a pet because she was 'allergic'. _Your mama's allergic to anything she don't like._ Daddy used to say. Evidently, she'd changed her mind.

"It's Glen's dog," she said. "Glen, honey, I'm home. Winona's here. Come say hello." She turned back to me. "She's an English Mastiff. She's almost two years old and very well trained."

"Who's Glen?" I asked, a little stunned.

A slightly bow-legged man with a shock of snow white hair and a neat goatee appeared. Tan legs stuck out of frayed denim shorts and he wore a t-shirt sporting a picture of a smiling alligator playing the bongos. Underneath the cartoon the shirt declared: _Drummers do it with rhythm._

What the hell?

After wiping his hands on a dishtowel, he extended one to me. "Glen Underwood," he said. "It's nice to finally meet you, Winona." He smiled, and bright blue eyes flashed in his sunburned face. "Your mama here talks about you girls all the time." He slung an arm around my mother and she blushed, staring at the floor instead of at me. Oh, we were definitely going to have a _long_ talk.

There was a rap on the door behind me and Marshal Matt stuck his head in. Stella's tail thumped louder, but she didn't growl or make a move toward him. Still, the marshal looked at her warily.

"I got her," Glen laid a hand on her collar. "Stella, down." The dog gave a grunt and lowered herself to the floor.

Matt stepped in. "Everything looks good out here. I'm going to need to take a quick look around inside, if you don't mind, Ma'am."

"Let me show you around," Mama said, relieved for the distraction. She walked away, disappearing into the kitchen with Matt at her heels.

"You've got bags in the car?" Glen said. "I'll grab them. I bet you'd like to get settled in. Your mom has the back bedroom all made up for you." He said. "She's worked my butt off since yesterday getting things ready."

"Thank you," I said, staring after him as he made his way out to the car, a thousand questions running through my mind. At sixty-two, my mother was certainly young enough to want male companionship, but why had she never mentioned him? Did he and that enormous dog live here with her ? What in the world was going on?

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

Glen carried my bags down the hallway and I followed. Despite my nap in the car, I was so tired I could barely put one foot in front of the other. He set my bags down and tugged on the blinds to shut out the late afternoon sun. "You look like you could use a nap. I'll tell Lainey you're lying down. You rest, now." He shut the door quietly behind him before I could say thank you.

The only people I'd ever heard call my mother 'Lainey', - short for Elaine -, were my daddy and her sister, my Aunt Janet. So Glen wasn't a newcomer. He'd evidently been in the picture for awhile. I had to admit I'd been a bit self-focused what with the baby and all, but Gayle talked to Mama as much as I did and I was sure if she'd mentioned Glen, I'd know about it.

Sinking onto the bed I kicked off my shoes with a groan. I was out as soon as my head hit the pillow. The baby woke me eventually, kicking up a storm. I had no idea how long I'd been asleep. I looked for a clock, and not seeing one, dug my cellphone out of my purse. Shit. I'd forgotten to call Raylan. I hadn't even turned the damn thing back on when we got off the plane. How could I forget that? I guess what they said about 'pregnancy brain' was true. I powered up the phone and listened to three increasingly annoyed messages from Raylan and one from Gayle. Then I punched in his number and waited.

"I'm sorry. I forgot to call," I said when he answered. "I was just so tired."

"I called Killian. He said you were sleepin'. You okay?"

"Just tired. Everything caught up to me, I guess." I yawned.

"Sounds like you need to go back to bed."

"I'll probably turn in early, but I need to eat something first. You know they don't feed you on planes anymore?"

"Not even peanuts?"

"Pretzels. I hate pretzels."

"I remember."

I could hear the smile in his voice and picture the way his eyes crinkled and one side of his mouth lifted when he was amused. After everything we'd been through together in the past few days, I felt closer to him than I had in a long time. I'd wanted some space between us, and Louisville had been a safe distance. Now though, I hated that he was so far away. I missed him. The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I thought about all it would mean to say them and what it might do to the fragile peace between us and bit them back.

"My mother has a boyfriend," I said instead.

"Wasn't she engaged to some retired banker from Alabama?"

"Albany and that was six years ago, Raylan. They broke up. Thing is, she never mentioned this new guy and it looks like he's practically living here. Him and his giant dog. It's kinda weird."

"Giant dog? I thought your mother didn't like dogs."

"She never did before. She must really like this guy, but then why not gush about him like she has everyone else she's dated?"

"I toldja, I don't know anything about girls, least of all the grown-up kind."

"Well, pretty soon you get to start over on the ground floor."

"How's she doin'?"

The baby was still moving around, kicking and turning over. "She's good. She's taking advantage of the space in there to do some tumbling while she can. The book says she can hear voices. Do you wanna talk to her?"

"Isn't she a little young for her own cell phone?"

He was smiling again, I could tell, and I wanted to reach out and touch him, brush the hair from his forehead, lean in and feel his warmth. I swallowed. "Yeah, I guess so, but she could borrow mine. Why don't you say goodnight?" I figured he'd say it was silly. There was a pause before he answered.

"Okay."

"Say whatever you want," I told him. "I won't eavesdrop."

He chuckled. "Yeah, you will."

I slid the phone down, pressing it to my belly. "Go ahead. She's listening."

Raylan was right. I pressed my thumb against the volume button and heard his voice, soft. "Goodnight, baby girl. Daddy loves you..." There was a pause. "...and your mama, too."

After saying goodbye to Raylan, I slipped the phone back into my purse and blew my nose. A soft rap came at the door and it opened a crack. Mama stuck her head in. She'd taken off her make up, pulled her hair back, and traded her airport outfit for yellow lounge pants and a white T-shirt. She looked tan and fit and very happy.

"You're awake," she observed. "I thought I heard talking. Oh don't be embarrassed now, I talked to you girls all the time when I was pregnant." She pursed her lips and her mouth wrinkled unpleasantly. "Your father thought I was nuts, but I was right, wasn't I?"

"Yes, babies can hear. But I was talking to Raylan. He says 'hello'."

"You tell him 'hello' right back and to get his ass down here if he's so worried about you."

I shook my head. Mama was like a dog with a juicy bone she wasn't letting go. I wondered if she'd be all that happy if he actually showed up.

She pulled my suitcase up onto the bed. "Let me help get you settled in." She started unzipping the bag, but I laid a hand on her arm.

"I can do that myself later."

She threw her hands in the air. "Alright. Alright." Moving to the closet, she slid the door open. "I got you a few things. I wasn't sure that you would have time to pack much or if you even had any summery maternity clothes. It gets so hot this time of year..." She turned, her smile quivering. "I hope you like what I picked out. I was never as good with you as I was with your sister."

She was right. I remembered our fights over clothing when I was a teenager and all the Christmas presents from her that I'd returned or packed away, never worn. "You didn't have to get me anything."

"I know," she nodded. "But I wanted to."

She'd gone overboard as usual. There were three sundresses, leggings with two tops, a maternity bathing suit (as if!), and a pair of colorful flip flops. I picked them up and laughed. "I haven't worn flip flops since I was eight."

"You laugh now, but by the time I delivered you flip flops were all I could wear, my feet were so swollen."

I fingered a silky dark blue sundress. "Thank you."

"Why don't you take a shower and change? Glen is going to throw some steaks on the grill and I made that potato salad you like. You'll feel better after you clean up." She patted a stack of towels on the dresser. "Your bathroom is right across the hall."

"So, Glen's living here?"

"Oh, and my friend, Judy next door," Mama went on as if she hadn't heard my question. "She has a fancy salon down at St. Armand's and she's giving you the whole mommy-to-be package as a gift. You get a hair cut, pedicure, manicure, and a massage or facial." Mama beamed at me. "Isn't that nice?"

It sounded heavenly, but I didn't like the way she was avoiding talking about Glen.


	2. I Heard I Was in Town

Ch. 2: I Heard I Was in Town

I stared at the moonlight skittering across the ceiling of my old bedroom and blew out a breath. I couldn't sleep. That was nothing new, but it was too damn quiet here. I was used to the noise from the bar or at least the traffic and city noises of downtown Lexington. Frustrated, I swung my legs over the side of the bed, pulled on my jeans and padded, shirtless, down the stairs to the kitchen. I flipped on the light and opened the fridge, glancing in before remembering I'd drank the last beer while I talked to Winona. There wasn't any bourbon either.

On a hunch, I opened the cupboard at the top of the cellar stairs. There were two dusty bottles of wine - vinegar by now - and a jug. I uncorked it and took a whiff. Helen's moonshine, likely the last of it. I couldn't drink more than a glass without paying for it in the morning, but maybe it would drown out the silence and let me sleep.

Stepping out onto the porch with my glass, I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. It was too early for crickets, but if I focused I could make out the soft sounds of other night creatures. I eased down onto the step, raised my glass toward Helen's grave, and took a sip of the 'shine. My throat burned and my eyes watered. I was out of practice.

The second sip wasn't as bad. I stared out at the plot. Arlo's pile of earth stood out, raw and angry, just like him. It was an effort at times to wrap my head around him not _being_ anymore. At least death seemed to have shut him up. I still heard Helen in my head sometimes, but so far Arlo was blessedly silent.

I didn't want to stay in this house for long. The wall was patched and I'd cleaned up the mess left from Bob's fight to the death with Yoda or Yolo or whoever the hell he was. The place looked as good as it was going to look. There's only so much lipstick you can put on a pig. I didn't want to be here, but I didn't want to be back above the bar either. Too many bad memories in both places. What I _wanted_ was to go back to work. Thirty damn days. I was going to lose my mind.

Moonshine doesn't sneak up on you. It hits you over the head pretty quickly and that's probably a good thing. I pushed up from the step while I still could and swallowed the last of it. In the house, I set the glass on the counter and flopped onto the couch, flicking on the television. When I was a kid we were lucky to get the local Lexington station on a clear day. Now, with the satellite Arlo had installed on the roof - stolen, no doubt - there were easily a hundred, and still there was nothing on. I settled for the endless loop of chatter that is ESPN, threw my arm over my face and let the noise distract me into sleep.

The next morning I woke somewhat rested and, miraculously, without much of a headache. Forgoing a shower, I threw on a t-shirt and jeans and drove into town. I had a big breakfast at the diner to make up for no dinner the night before. Then I spent two hours at the gun range. After that, I swung by Constable Bob's to see how he was recovering. He'd come out lucky, with just a broken nose, two broken ribs, and a bruised kidney. It could've been a helluva lot worse.

Bob lived in his folks' old place, on a side street not far from Johnny's bar. Like most of Harlan, it'd seen better days, but you could tell that he and his sister tried to keep the place up. The sagging front porch had been painted recently and the sidewalk and driveway were swept clean. Parallel rows of red geraniums and yellow marigolds led the way to the door. I parked behind his battered Gremlin and climbed out of the Lincoln, sliding the hat on.

Bob's sister, Lottie, opened the door to my knock. Picture Bob with a curly perm and more facial hair and you've pretty much got Lottie. "Raylan!" She backed her bulk away from the door to let me pass. "Bob'll be so glad to see ya. It's real nice of ya to stop by. Do ya want some coffee?"

I nodded. "Coffee'd be fine."

"Bob!" She hollered. "Raylan Givens is here."

Moments later, Bob lumbered slowly into the kitchen in plaid pajama bottoms and a UK sweatshirt. "Hiya, Raylan."

"How you doin'?" I asked. His facial bruises had faded to yellowish-green, but his nose was still swollen and his voice had more of a nasal tone than usual.

"I'm hangin' in." His eyes brightened. "Did you see the paper?"

I thought I caught Lottie rolling her eyes as Bob rummaged on the cluttered kitchen counter and pulled out a stack of Harlan Gazettes. "I made the front page. Those Staties'll have to give me a shot now, don'tcha think?"

"I'll put in a good word," I assured him, taking the paper he held out. The headline beside Bob's picture read "Local Constable Battles Mob Henchman; Helps Capture Fugitive Sheriff". I skimmed the article. It was a bit exaggerated in that small-town weekly newspaper way, but they got most of the facts right. The story continued on the next page with a picture of a stone-faced Rachel leading a handcuffed Drew Thompson into the Lexington Courthouse.

"You can keep it," Bob beamed. "I got plenty." This time Lottie's eye roll was impossible to miss.

I dipped my head, hiding a smile. "Thanks, Bob," I said. I sipped my coffee. It was okay. Better than Tim's at the office, anyway.

"I sure did a number on that Yolo guy, didn't I, Raylan?" He nodded his head for emphasis.

I may have thought of Bob as a ridiculous wanna-be-cop at one time, not so long ago, but he'd proved his mettle. He deserved some praise and recognition. "You're here and he ain't and We got Drew Thompson in custody. That tells the story."

"Don't it just?" He pursed his lips. "People thought I was a joke. Maybe now they'll give me some respect."

"Well, the paper is a good start."

After another cup of coffee and few more minutes of awkward conversation, I extricated myself from Bob and Lottie. I picked up a six pack and a frozen pizza at the Stop-and-Go and took the scenic route back to Arlo's with the windows rolled down. No matter how I procrastinated, I still ended up back at the house alone, with way too much time to think. After looking around desperately for something to occupy myself, I spent the afternoon cleaning out the garage. The sun was going down by the time I showered, grabbed a beer from the fridge and put the pizza in the oven. Setting the timer, I took my beer to the porch and punched Winona's number on my cell. It went to voicemail, and I hung up without leaving a message.

I watched the Reds struggle against the Cubs while I ate my pizza and drank two more beers. The Reds tied it up, then lost in extra innings, and I clicked the television off. I looked around for something to do, but there wasn't anything. The jug of 'shine on the counter was tempting, but first I tried Winona again. This time she answered on the second ring.

"Hey," I said. "How you doin'?"

"I'm good," she said. "Palmolive's good, too. How was your day?"

I leaned back on the couch and put my feet up. "Boring," I answered truthfully.

"Bored already?" She laughed. "And this is what? Day three of thirty? Did you get everything done at your father's place?"

"Pretty much."

There was a long pause. "I'm sorry you're bored. When was the last time you had a vacation? You _could_ go somewhere."

"I 'spose I could," I said, noticing she stopped short of offering me an invitation. I tried not to take it personally.

Another long pause. "I'm still flummoxed about Glen," she said. "Mama pretty much confirmed he lives here, most of the time anyway, but she's been evasive about anything else." She sighed. "Maybe it's none of my business."

Winona sounded worried, and I'd known her long enough to pay attention to her intuition, although, that hadn't worked so well with Gary. I couldn't blame her if that mistake and what just happened with Nicky's goons had left her a little paranoid.

"So what bothers you more," I asked, already knowing the answer. "Glen, or your mom not telling you about him?"

"I guess I just wonder how well she knows him. He doesn't seem like her type at all."

"She happy?"

Winona snorted a breath. "Positively giddy when he's around."

"And Glen?"

"He seems happy, too. And he's been nothing but sweet to me." There was a pause and another sigh. "Maybe I'm just reading too much into it. Maybe she was worried how Gayle and I would react since he's so..."

"So...what?"

"I don't know...just different. He's a musician, for one. He plays the drums in a band. And his hair is almost as long as hers."

I tried to imagine Winona's conservative mother with a long-haired hippy musician. "Maybe she's having a midlife crisis."

"She's sixty-two, Raylan, isn't that a bit late for a midlife crisis?"

"Well, just because you had yours early," I joked.

"Funny."

"I thought so." She gave another snort and I smiled into the phone. "What does Gayle say? If I know you, you've already hashed this over with her." I grabbed another beer from the fridge and went back out onto the porch, sitting on the step.

"She's a little worried, too. It's just odd. Mama usually tells us more than we want to know about her beaus and this time she hasn't. Would you..." she paused. "Oh, never mind."

"What?"

"You're suspended anyway. I don't want to make it worse."

I sighed, leaning back against the railing. "You want me to check out Glen."

"Is there any way you could? It might help me worry less."

"And you worryin' ain't good for Palmolive." I took a long swig from the bottle. "I 'spose I could get Tim or Rachel to run the name for me, see if anything pops up."

"I'd really appreciate it, Raylan."

"Alright. What's his last name?"

"Underwood. Glen Underwood."

"Okay, I'll let you know if I find out anything."

"Okay," she yawned. "I think I'm going to crawl in bed and read for awhile. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"It might take awhile to get somethin' back on him, if there is anything."

"Call me anyway, okay?"

"Alright, 'night, Winona."

"Good night, Cowboy."

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

Ordinarily my go-to back-up for something like this would be Tim, but he was dealing with losing his buddy and shooting another veteran and all the shit of the mandatory AUSA investigation on top of that. I thought better of asking. I called Rachel instead.

"I'll see what I can do. No promises," she said after I explained what I wanted over the phone the next morning.

"I know you're stickin' your neck out." I ran a hand through my hair and squinted out through the morning fog. It was thick enough that I couldn't even see Arlo's old trailer from the porch. "But I'm sure you can think of somethin' if Art asks."

"Hopefully he won't ask. If he does, I'll just say he's a known acquaintance of this guy I'm looking for."

"Thanks, Rach, I owe you."

"Damn straight." She hung up.

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

I spent a hot morning in the attic. I'd told Winona there was nothing else to do here, but truth be told I hadn't touched the attic or the cellar. The cellar would've been cooler, but the attic was more likely to hold salvageable things. Now that I knew the baby was a girl, it might be nice to have a few things of Mama's or Helen's to save for her, since she'd never know them.

I ended up with an old quilt, a lace handkerchief I remembered my mother keeping in her purse, some photographs, and a box of letters she and Arlo exchanged when he was in Vietnam. I didn't care to read them, but who knew, maybe my daughter would, some day. There was a recipe book with notes in Helen's handwriting. Maybe her recipe for jam-cake was in there. I put that in the box with the letters.

I made a pile for the church rummage sale to pick up, a pile to take with me, and a pile for the garbage. The garbage pile was the biggest.

It was after noon when I stripped off my sweat-soaked t-shirt and jeans and stepped into the shower. My cell phone was flashing when I got out. Rachel had left a voice mail. "Call me on my cell."

I wrapped a towel around my waist and dialed her number.

"No Glen Underwood in Florida pops up," she said without preliminaries. "I got a Glen Underwood in Anaheim, California, he's a realtor, of all things." She snickered. "And a Glen Underwood, deceased in 1987 at age 79 in Newburg, New York. Other than that, nothing."

"Maybe Glen isn't his first name," I suggested.

"I thought of that," Rachel said. "I did a search for Glen as a middle name, last name Underwood, and came up with nothing."

I leaned against the bathroom counter in the steamy bathroom, frowning. "What do you think?"

"He might be using an alias. Does Winona have a picture?"

"No, but maybe she can get one." I thanked Rachel again and clicked off. My finger paused over Winona's number. I could call and ask her for a picture...or...I could go down and see for myself. I looked at my surroundings, weighed the options for about ten seconds, pulled my duffel bag out from under the bed, and tossed in a clean pair of jeans, underwear, and a couple of shirts.

Twenty minutes later I was turning south onto 1-75, headed for the Sunshine State.


	3. Coconut Telegraph

Judy's tan face, framed by a halo of salt and pepper spikes, loomed above mine in the mirror. She held up a hank of my hair, tssking. "Darlin'," she drawled. "Bein' pregnant is no excuse for not takin' care of your assets. You've got gorgeous hair, but it's grown like a weed with those prenatal vitamins and all. These ends are a mess. When was the last time you had a good cut?"

I shrugged. When I was having morning sickness - more like all day sickness - it was easier to pull it up than style it. Since I didn't have to go to work, it got to be a habit. Here in Florida it had been too hot to wear it down, and besides, it always frizzed with the humidity.

"I'm gonna take off a couple inches, put in some layers, get rid of these nasty ends and give you some bounce. Then I'll put in some highlights to brighten you up and it'll be gorgeous. Promise."

Mama nodded beside me. "You trust Judy now, Hon." She patted her own hair and winked. "She knows her stuff." She picked up her purse from the counter and checked her cell phone. "I'm gonna go run an errand or two, then I'll swing back and pick you up and we'll grab some lunch and go to that baby store I was telling you about. They have the most darling little dresses!" With a wave, she turned and wove her way through the salon and out the door.

I relaxed and let Judy do what she wanted. I felt a little like someone on a reality make-over show. She turned me away from the mirror while she worked, keeping up a constant jabber about all the wonderful things to do while I was in Sarasota and how great it was to have kids. She had four, all grown, and by the time she was through with my color I could recite their names, ages, college degrees, and marital status from memory.

"Your mama is sure happy to have you here," Judy said. "She's been worried about you up there, split up and livin' with your sister and all." She shook her head. "That ex-husband of yours sounds like a piece of work."

Even as I bristled at her comments it occurred to me that I might have been pumping the wrong person for information. My mother was dodging my questions, but Judy was a gossip. Mama had handed me a golden opportunity and she didn't even realize it. "So, what do you think of Glen?" I asked, when I could work a word in edgewise.

"He's great, don't you think?" She went on before I could respond. "What a handsome man." Judy closed her eyes, a dreamy smile on her lips. "I have more than one client who would kill for that gorgeous wavy hair."

"I was thinking more along the lines of his personality."

She must've picked up on something in my voice. She cocked her head. "You don't like him?"

"Oh, I like him fine," I said, and it was true. He was kind and funny, with a dry sense of humor that reminded me of Raylan, and his affection for my mother was obvious. But something about him still just didn't click. "He's just not really Mama's type."

"He's been good for her," Judy's scissors snipped faster as she talked. "She was actin' like some old lady, not goin' out, nose stuck in a book all the time." She huffed out a breath. I doubted Judy was a reader. "She's too pretty and vital for that."

"How'd they meet?"

"She didn't tell you?"

I shook my head and Judy laughed. "Well, I guess maybe she was embarrassed."

"Why would she be embarrassed?" I wondered for a horrified moment if my mother had joined some online-dating service for older adults.

Judy chewed her lip. A confession was coming. "We bought her a date at the 'Bachelors of Sarastota' auction about six months ago. Me and Arlene Thomas, one of your mama's other friends. We'd had enough of her mopin' around. She was hoppin' mad at first, but it turned out alright. I think Glen is a couple of years younger, but he adores your mama, and I think she's sweet on him, too."

"I'd say so, since he's practically moved in. Where did he live before?"

"I'm pretty sure he still has his own place just north of Miami." She stopped cutting and stared up at the ceiling for a minute. "I'll think of it...Pompano Beach, that's it." Her scissors started again. "Funny thing, he was just as mad about it as she was. Turns out one of his bandmates had signed him up for this auction thing and he was mortified. He was going to back out, but the charity would've lost money so he came. Kismet."

The blow dryer was too loud for conversation, so we lapsed into silence until she whirled the chair around. "Whaddaya think?"

I looked at my reflection in the mirror and blinked. My hair looked fabulous. She'd cut it to shoulder length in front, tapering it down the sides. The back hung right between my shoulder blades. It curled softly, no frizz, and she'd lightened it at the roots and around my face.

"Well?" Judy demanded.

"I really like it. The color is great. I'm not sure I can style it though."

She handed me a tube. "Use this and blow it dry slow, don't use high heat. And you don't need to wash everyday. Save that updo for the second day. Now.." holding out her hand she helped me from the chair. Julie's going to do your mani-pedi and you'll be set to go."

After another hour or so my nails were perfectly shaped ovals of pale pink and my toes - in the flip flops Mama bought me - were an aqua color Judy picked that I never would have chosen myself. "It's whimsical," the girl painting them said. "Perfect for an expectant mommy." She shrugged her shoulders. "If you don't like it, I can take it off easy enough and do something else."

I did like it, if only because I knew Mama wouldn't. Something about being around my mother always turned me back into a rebellious thirteen-year-old.

"Blue toenails? Is this some subtle way of tellin' me it could still be a boy?" I still knew her well. She didn't like it.

"It's aqua. And no, we know it's a girl."

Mama dug a lipstick out of her purse and glanced in the rear-view mirror, swiping it expertly across her mouth. "Well, it looks like your feet are cold."

-o-o-o-

We ate lunch outside along the street at a little cafe with wrought iron tables and umbrellas. Matt, my U.S. Marshal shadow who had disappeared while I was at the salon, sat several tables away, facing the street. I gave him a little wave. It was a sunny day and the restaurant was crowded with shoppers taking a break. My mother ordered the same thing she always did; a club sandwich, hold the mayo. At least some things were still predictable. I ordered a chicken salad with grapes and pecans. After the waiter left with our order Mama admired my hair and talked about what a genius Judy was, blue toenails forgotten.

I decided to get to the point. "So," I said, stirring my iced-tea. "You met Glen because Judy and Arlene bought him for you?" I smiled and raised an eyebrow.

"Judy is such a busybody," Mama said. She flushed and took a long sip of iced tea before she answered. "I should've known she'd tell you all about it. Yes, they bought me a date at the bachelor auction. I wasn't going to go, but..." she folded her hands on the table. "Do you remember Paul?"

"The banker? Sure, nice man. You brought him up with you when Gayle had Ethan."

"That's right." A smile played at the corners of her mouth, then dropped away. "Yes, well, he died about a year ago. Stroke."

"Oh!" I said. "He wasn't that old, was he?"

"Two years older than me." Mama shook her head. "We stayed friends, you know, after we decided not to get married. He'd come to dinner once a week or so, or we'd go out. He liked to go to a lot of the events here; the film festival, things at The Ringling, and he was old-fashioned enough to like having someone on his arm. He wasn't good at making small talk." She stopped while the waiter refilled their iced tea. "When he died so suddenly...well...looking back I suppose I was depressed. I did a lot of thinking about my own mortality and all that nonsense." She waved a hand in the air dismissively.

The waiter came with our food and I dug in eagerly. My mother took a nibble from one of the sections of sandwich. "Judy and Arlene saw me in a rut and did me a favor. I didn't see it at the time. I was embarrassed and a little angry, but when I met Glen..." Her eyes lit up. "We hit it off right away.

"You like him a lot, don't you?"

"I thought I was past the point of falling in love again," Mama said softly. "But I guess I'm not too old after all."

"Oh, Mama," I said, pushing all my worries about Glen aside. "I'm happy for you."

"I only wish," she started, then shook her head. "Never mind."

I was curious. Did she have her own reservations about Glen? "What?"

"I said never mind." She picked up another section of sandwich. "I'm not going to meddle."

That would be a first. I sighed and tossed my napkin on the table. "You might as well say it, Mama." I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. "I know you. If you don't, it will just eat its way out eventually anyway."

She pushed the plate with her half-eaten sandwich aside and leaned her elbows on the table. "I wish you weren't having this baby alone."

"I'm not, Mama..."

"Couldn't you and Raylan find a way to work things out? God knows your father and I weren't the perfect match, and yes, ultimately it ended, but...well...at least we were together when you girls were growing up. It's better for a child to have both parents." She nodded for emphasis.

"The baby will have both of us, no matter what."

"What about you?" She tilted her head, leveling steel-blue eyes at me.

"What do you mean?" I knew exactly what she meant. I was stalling, but at least it bought me a minute.

"Do you want to stay single? Or are you going to start dating, after the baby is born?"

I snorted. "I'm sure I'll be attracting men like flies what with a new baby, no job, and no place of my own."

"What about Raylan?" She asked. "He dating anyone?"

"Raylan doesn't _date_." I smiled a little at the thought. "And no, I think he mighta been seeing someone for awhile, but it I don't think he is anymore."

"Would it bother you if he was?"

I chewed my lip and Mama laughed.

"That's what I thought." The waiter brought the check and she snatched it up before I could. "I'll get it. Listen...maybe, just maybe, this baby is the best thing that's ever happened to you and Raylan. It's gonna force you to stay put and him, well, he might have to consider that there are things more important than that job of his."

-o-o-o-

Mama hadn't been exaggerating about the baby store. It was called _Over the Moon_ and it had the most darling baby clothes I'd ever seen. I assembled quite a wardrobe for baby girl Givens, and replaced a few of the nursery items that got spoiled in the gunfight at Gayle's. At the register, Mama pulled out her credit card, but I brushed her off.

"You've done enough, Mama. I've got money."

She raised an eyebrow. "But without a job..."

"Raylan will be helping, and besides, Gary's life insurance came through last week."

Mama's lips curved into a smile. She hadn't liked Gary. "Now that's what I'd call poetic justice."

I didn't disagree.

By the time we got home, toting huge sacks from _Over the Moon_ and _Babies are Us_, I was exhausted again. I begged off a before-dinner walk on the beach with Mama and Glen and took another nap instead. I woke up, an hour or so later and they weren't back yet, so I decided to call Raylan.

When he answered, I could tell from the funny echo that he was using the Blue Tooth in the car. "So you decided to get out of Harlan after all." I said.

There was a long pause before he answered. "Yeah, I did."

I pushed open the sliding door to the patio and sank into one of the deck chairs arranged to face the bay. "Where're you going?"

"Not sure yet. I'll let you know."

I pushed aside the twinge of disappointment. Maybe I should have just swallowed my pride and invited him down. "Did you find out anything?"

"I got Rachel to run the name but nothing popped up."

"Nothing? No driver's license or traffic tickets, or divorce papers or anything? That's weird, isn't it?"

"Maybe Glen isn't his name, maybe it's short for something, or maybe it's a stage name, didn't you say he was a musician?"

"Yeah, but Glen Underwood isn't much of a stage name." He didn't say anything. "You're interested now, huh?" I joked. I knew how his mind worked. Give him something to chew over, and he wouldn't stop until he found the answer. Then something occurred to me. "You aren't keeping something from me, are you? The way you did when you ran those names I found on Gary's computer?" I shivered, remembering the creepy man who showed up in my kitchen.

"Winona, that was..."

"You protecting me, I know. Which we both know you are very good at, but this is me, protecting my mother, so if you found something..."

"Nothing," he assured me. "Yet."

I heard that familiar tone in his voice. His curiosity had gotten the better of him. Relief and a tingle of anticipation hit me as I figured it out. "You're on your way down here to see for yourself, aren't you?"

"I was gonna surprise you." He chuckled. "Just got through Atlanta. God, what a mess. You couldn't pay me enough money to live in a big city and fight that goddamn traffic every day."

Atlanta was about eight hours away. If I knew Raylan he'd just keep driving, which meant he'd get here about one in the morning. "You're driving straight through?"

"Yeah," he yawned. "Spent two hours in a traffic jam south of Knoxville and I stopped and dozed at a rest area for a little while this morning, but I figured I'd keep going. No sense wastin' money on a motel room."

"I'll leave my phone on. Call me when you get past Tampa and I'll give you directions out to the island. It can get kind of tricky when you've never been here."

"I don't want to wake you all up. I'll just hang around somewhere until morning."

"Raylan, that's just silly. I'll let Mama know. She won't mind. Call me."

He blew out a breath. "Okay."

"I'm glad you're coming," I said.

"Really?" He sounded relieved and a little skeptical.

"Yeah, I've missed you."

There. I said it.


	4. Changes in Latitudes

The red hills of Georgia merged into the low dry brush of Florida and the peach orchards and pecan groves gave way to faded billboards for tourist traps promising 'the world's largest alligator' and trucker clubs featuring 'live nude girls'. I wondered what the alternative to the latter might be.

People think of Florida as all sunlit water and beaches, but the majority of the inland that isn't horse farms of the rich and famous is flat, brown, and dead, in more ways than one. I-75 cuts right through that part, broken up only by increasingly obnoxious signs for that mecca of childhood, Disney World. I contemplated the fact that a pilgrimage there was most likely in my future. Promises to the contrary, it wasn't the happiest thought I'd ever had.

"And I bet they make you check your sidearm at the gate," I mused out loud to the empty car. Just as well, I'd probably end up shooting Mickey Mouse, all seven of those damn dwarves, and myself just to end the misery.

As if on cue, my phone rang. I hit the button and Tim came on. "Where the hell are you? I come all the way down here to Harlan on my day off with news and a twelve-pack, and the house is locked up tighter than Art's wallet at lunchtime at the diner."

I couldn't help laughing. "I'm outta town. Figured I might as well take advantage of the time off and do some travelin'."

"So, you're headin' down to see Winona?"

Great, my actions were as transparent to him as they were to Winona. Great. "Yeah. I'm going down to spend some time with her."

"But really you wanna check out this Glen Underwood guy for yourself."

"You talked to Rachel."

"She talked to me," he corrected. "After the FBI called."

"The FBI called? Shit." I smacked the steering wheel. "Did Rachel get into trouble?" I was going to owe her big time if she got another wrist slap from Art.

"Nah. You would've, but Art believed her when she said the name came up as an acquaintance of this guy she's looking for. Some parolee who walked away from a work detail a couple of weeks ago when we were all tied up with who-is-Drew-Thompson."

"What did they want?"

"What do those dicks ever want? Wanted to know where she got the name, why she was askin' questions. They all but tell you 'hey this guy is important - we've got our eyes on him' and then expect you not to keep lookin'." Tim ended with a snort.

"Surely you don't harbor the ridiculous notion that we're all on the same side?" I chuckled.

Another snort.

"So the name means something to them."

"Yeah, evidently, because some guy Rachel knows - read _used-to-date_ - in the DEA bypassed Art and called her cell to ask her personally to please back off."

"The DEA?"

"Yeah. **D**on't **E**ven **A**sk."

I thought about all the things that might mean and my foot got a little heavy on the accelerator. I was just about to ask Tim his theory when I heard the screech of a siren and saw the flashing red lights in my rear-view. "Goddamn it."

"What?"

"I got a statie on me. I'll call you back." I slowed the Lincoln and pulled to the side of the road.

The trooper sauntered to the car with the cocksure attitude of traffic cops everywhere. Don't get me wrong, I respect all law enforcement, more or less, but speed traps bug the shit out of me.

After I fished out my license and grabbed the registration from the glove box, I rolled down the window. If Art hadn't insisted I leave my badge in my desk, I would've tossed that at the trooper, too. He was young, twenty-five or so, tops, and programed to be respectful.

"Do you know how fast you were goin' Sir?"

"Pretty fast, I reckon'," I laid on the Kentucky accent as thick as I could. "My wife's visitin' her mama down here in Sarasota. We're havin' a baby real soon and I'm pretty anxious to get there, ya know?"

His stoic face broke into a huge grin. "I sure do understand. My wife and I just had our first last month. Lyla Elizabeth. She's a doll." He blushed, realizing he'd lost some bluster, and tried to scowl. The effect was comical on his baby face. "Let me just run this and I'll get you on your way. Be right back."

He jogged back to his cruiser, returning moments later. "Marshal Givens," he said, handing back the papers. "One law officer to another, I should ticket you since you were going eleven miles over the speed limit, but I'm giving you a warning. You drive safe now, and good luck with that baby of yours."

"Thanks, you, too."

As soon as I eased back into traffic, I called Tim back. "What do you think?" I asked without preliminaries.

"About this Underwood dude?" There was a pause, and I assumed Tim was draining one of the beers, probably his second or third. "I would bet he's either under FBI or DEA surveillance or FBI protection."

"That's what I was thinkin'."

"I was also thinking that it's mighty interesting that a guy Rachel used to date before she was married still has her cell phone number and feels free to call it after all this time."

I've had enough speculation about my own personal life that I try to keep my nose out of other people's. "Just let it go," I said.

"You're no fun," Tim pouted.

"Hey, if you had a private life to speak of you might care more."

"Maybe I'm just discrete enough to actually keep my private life _private_," he said. Then he got back to business. "Let me try my sources at the bureau."

"I thought your sources at the FBI were still stinging from the last time." I knew Tim's friend had gotten into some trouble with the higher ups.

"Her boss was that asshole who disappeared," Tim said. "The one who thought you were a dirty cop? Now she's the temporary head of her division."

"Alright then," I said. "Give her a call and let me know what you come up with."

"Will do. You enjoy the beach now. Wear a bathing suit. Send pictures." He laughed and I hung up without responding.

My stomach growled to remind me the last thing I'd eaten was a couple of stale doughnuts right before I crossed the Florida state line. The usual array of fast food didn't appeal to me, so at the next exit I pulled into a Waffle House. At least the coffee would be fresh.

Three cups of decent coffee and a double cheeseburger later, I was back on I-75. Traffic increased as I neared the Tampa-St. Petersburg area, but it was already after midnight so it wasn't that bad. Just past Tampa, however, I hit nighttime construction. I slowed to a crawl behind three semis and sat there, breathing in their fumes and fuming myself. Worried that she might still be waiting up, I called Winona. She answered on the second ring.

"Did I wake you?" I asked.

"No. I took a nap after I talked to you earlier. I'm hooked on Mama's dvds of _The Good Wife_. I'm already on season 2. You almost here?"

I told her about the construction.

"Don't worry," she told me. "I'm not the least bit sleepy and Mama and Glen won't be home for awhile anyway."

"Where are they?"

"Glen's band is playing at Rotten Ralph's. It's a bar out on the tip of the island. They play until one or two. Mama and her friend Judy and Judy's husband went along."

"Wow, your mother's really taking a walk on the wild side," I noted. "Didn't she used to turn the radio down whenever we went anywhere in the car?"

"Yeah, well...she's a lot more relaxed about that now." There was a pause and a sigh. I could picture her chewing her lip.

"Spit it out. Whatcha thinkin'?"

"I think I may have been a little paranoid about Glen. He's been really nice since I got here, and it's obvious he's crazy about her. He's a good cook, too, better than mama," She laughed, lightly. "Tonight we had shrimp on the grill with rice and some kind of sauce. I made a pig of myself."

That sounded way better than the cheeseburger and curly fries currently sitting like lead in my stomach. I debated telling her what I'd found out from Tim, but decided not to worry her. "Looks like we're starting to move. I should be there in an hour or so. If you're tired I can always..."

"I'm fine. Call back when you hit the Bradenton exit and I'll get you out here."

-o-o-o-

The road out to the island wove along a narrow strip of land dividing Tampa Bay from the blue green waters of the Gulf of Mexico. All but one of the bridges, and I'd gone over at least three or four, were drawbridges. I imagined the hell that was trying to get out to the island at midday on a Saturday during tourist season with the bridges going up for boats and everyone anxious to get to the beach. The snowbirds were gone now, though, and it was two in the morning. I was the only car on the road.

I followed the directions Winona gave me, and pulled up in front of a well-kept older home on the farthest side of the island. As I walked up the drive, I could see the lights from the bridge and hear the waves from the bay waters lapping against the beach behind the house.

Winona opened the door before I got there, flicking on the porch light and stepping out onto the walkway in bare feet. I glanced down. "Are your toenails blue?" I said, wondering if this was some odd pregnancy side-effect I hadn't heard about.

"It's good to see you, too, Raylan." She smirked at me and stretched up for a kiss. We lingered, like the last time, and my hand drifted to her belly. She smiled into the kiss and laid a hand on mine, moving it lower.

"Push a little," she said.

I hesitated.

"Go ahead, it won't hurt her."

I pressed in slightly and something, a foot or hand or elbow, pushed back. "Whoa," I said, taking a step back.

Winona beamed at me. "She just started doing that the other day. Neat, isn't it?"

It was. We stood that way, for a few moments, quiet, neither of us wanting to break this connection, then Winona shivered in the damp night air. "Let's get you inside," I said.

She put a hand on the door handle and looked over her shoulder at me. "The beast's name is Stella. She looks ferocious, but she wouldn't hurt a flea." I heard a heavy huff of breath and a whine. "Down, Stella," Winona said. The huge animal reluctantly sank to the floor. "Good girl."

The dog's eyes followed me as I came in, and her tail thumped against the table leg. She poked her head forward and long string of drool trailed from her mouth landing on the toe of my boot. I ignored her. She whined.

"Just pet her. She likes attention."

I patted the dog's head, and was rewarded with a nose in my butt as I passed.

"Mom and Glen aren't back yet. Are you hungry? There's some leftover shrimp in the fridge."

"Kinda, but I could really use a beer."

Winona led me into the kitchen, Stella on our heels.

She got me a beer and heated up some of the leftover shrimp. After I ate, we settled in front of the television to wait for her mother and Glen to get home. Stella heaved a huge sigh, plopped down at our feet and went to sleep. Winona stopped the dvd, evidently intuiting that _The Good Wife_ wasn't exactly must-see-tv for me, and handed me the remote. I switched to ESPN and she was asleep within five minutes. I let her sleep for a half-hour or so, then prodded her gently. "Come on," I said, pulling her to her feet, still half asleep, "Let's get you girls to bed."


	5. Miss You So Badly

In the morning, I woke up slowly and stretched, arching my back to work the kinks out. I ran a hand over my belly, rolled to my side, and opened my eyes. Raylan was beside me on top of the covers, snoring softly. He'd kicked his boots off, but he was still wearing his jeans and t-shirt. I leaned up on one elbow and looked him over. He was flat on his back, his head turned on the pillow. There was a lot more gray there than just a year ago, and the lines fanning out from his eyes were deeper. I wondered how much of it was my fault. I brushed a stray hank from his face. He twitched in his sleep, but didn't open his eyes.

It felt strange to wake up next to him, despite the thousands of times I'd done it before. In the months I'd spent living at Gayle's, I'd gotten used to sleeping alone. That's not to say I liked it, or that I never thought of him. Much to my annoyance all that time, Raylan was usually one of the last thoughts before I drifted to sleep and one of the first when I woke. Staying away from him hadn't been easy, and now I wondered if all the frustration had been worth it. In spite of his damn job and all the danger it brought into our lives, I loved him, and I knew he loved me. We were having a baby. Maybe my mother was right and we would all be better off together.

Still, even if it was possible, I knew it wouldn't be easy, and not just because of his job. A few months ago, he would have taken me back without question, just blaming my running off on pregnancy hormones or mood swings, or more likely, knowing Raylan, never mentioning it at all. But the window of opportunity for that kind of forgiveness had surely passed. I'd left him twice. But, maybe he'd already forgiven me. After all, he was here.

I flopped back onto my back, staring at the ceiling. The baby gave a kick. With her awake and all the thoughts spinning in my head, I knew I wouldn't be going back to sleep. I slipped out of bed, used the bathroom, and padded out to the kitchen in the flip flops I'd sworn I wouldn't wear. Mama evidently knew me better than either of us thought. I poured myself my one allotted cup of caffeine of the day, took a sip and sighed with contentment. Full-lead coffee and a beer; I swore I was going to have both in the delivery room.

I grabbed the pregnancy book from the couch where I'd left it, slid the door to the patio open, and sank into a chair to read and watch the pelicans dive for their breakfast.

Baby girl was energetic this morning. Maybe the dose of caffeine was having an instantaneous effect. I rubbed my belly in slow circles. "Good morning," I whispered. "Your daddy's here to see you."

"If you ask me, 'Daddy' is here to see 'Mama'." Glen's voice startled me. "Not that it's any of my business."

I looked up. This morning his t-shirt said "_Save the Manatees: Sink a speedboat_". His skinny legs stuck out of khaki cargo shorts and he had scuffed leather flip flops on his feet. One side of his silver-white hair was flattened from sleep. The dog followed him out, whining. "How can you get up so early?" I asked, ignoring his comment since it really _was_ none of his business. "What time did you finally get home last night?"

He smiled as he sat down in one of the chairs next to the glass patio table. Pointing beside him he said, "Stella, sit." The dog sat with a heavy sigh and leaned against his leg, drooling. "I guess we got in a little after three," he said. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at it. "I don't need much sleep."

Apparently not, I thought. I took another sip of coffee. "Did you meet Raylan?"

"Yep," Glen said, setting his own cup down. "He seems like a nice guy, from what I could tell at that time of the morning." He chuckled. "I think we woke him up when we came in, although he denied it."

"How did I sleep through that?"

"You were already in bed."

I wondered how I got there. I couldn't imagine Raylan carried me. I weighed a good twenty pounds more than the last time he'd picked me up. He must've walked me to the bedroom, though I didn't remember a thing.

"So he really wears that hat all the time? In Kentucky? It's not exactly the Cowboy State."

"I like the hat," I said. "He's worn it ever since I've known him."

Glen pushed back from the table and stood. "I'm going to take Stella for her morning walk and get a paper. I can pick up something for breakfast from the bakery if you want. What does Raylan like?"

"Bear claws, doughnuts, you name it," I said. Pastries of all kinds were a regular item in the Marshal's office and I'd never seen Raylan turn anything down.

"What would _you_ like?"

I thought for a moment. "A cinnamon roll would be good. And a cup of decaf, if they have it, Mama's all out."

"You got it."

Glen left, and I went back to watching the pelicans. Each one made an arc in the sky, huge wings stretching as they searched the waters for fish. When they spotted one, they would dive, gracefully, until they hit the water with an awkward splat. When I saw it the first morning Mama and I ate breakfast out here, I laughed out loud.

Now, I picked up my coffee and opened the book on my lap, running a thumb down the contents until I found what I was looking for. I'd avoided this particular chapter, but with Raylan in such close proximity, who knew? It might just come in handy. I sipped as I read, until a hand on my shoulder startled me. The coffee sloshed and splattered onto the page.

"Didn't mean to scare you," Raylan said. He leaned in and kissed the top of my head. "Mornin'. Whatcha readin'?"

I slapped the book shut and shoved it under the chair. I could feel my face flushing. I hoped he hadn't noticed the chapter title. "It's not nice sneaking up on someone," I said, only half teasing.

"Sorry." He walked to the railing and looked out over the water. "Nice view."

"I love sitting out here in the morning. It's peaceful."

"Yeah, it is." He turned around and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.

A heron landed on the neighbors patio, moving forward, legs lifting high with each step. His head poked back and forth, mouth open. "That's Hank," I told Raylan. "He shows up every morning. Judy and her husband named him."

"Hank?"

"Hank Heron." I figured he'd appreciate the baseball reference.

He shook his head, grinning. "That's bad."

"Dave is a real baseball nut," I said. "He goes to all the Orioles games when they're here." I shifted in the chair, hoping the baby would move off of my bladder. This time it worked and I sighed with relief.

"Orioles have spring training in Sarasota?" Raylan asked.

I shrugged. "I guess."

"It used to be the Reds, didn't it? But they're in Arizona now."

"I have no idea. You'd have to ask Dave."

He ran a hand through his hair.

"It's gettin' long there, Cowboy." I smirked at him. "Judy runs a salon. She did my hair. Maybe she could do yours, you know, put in some layers so it curls when it hits your shoulders here in a few weeks."

He repeated the motion. "Yeah, I guess I could use a haircut."

"She could touch up the grey, too, while she's at it."

I was joking, but his eyes flashed. I'd poked a nerve.

"Well, I've got a few gray hairs myself. Getting older is better than the alternative," I said, trying to ease the sting.

He paced a few steps, his back to me. "Yeah, but I'll be fifty when this kid is ten," he sighed. "And almost sixty by the time she graduates high school. Hell, with the Marshal's mandatory retirement I'll be out of a job just when she's needin' money for college."

He'd really been thinking about this. "Raylan." I patted the chair beside me. "Sit down with me. She's not even born yet. We're not gonna be the oldest parents at kindergarten. Lots of people are waiting to start their families. And don't worry about money for college. Mama's already started a savings account. It'll all work out."

Ignoring my invitation, he continued to pace back and forth, his eyes far away, one hand in the pocket of his jeans. I decided to change the subject. "Glen said he met you last night."

"More like this morning," he said. "Yeah."

"And? He's nice, right? I think I was just being paranoid, don't you?"

"He seems nice," Raylan admitted. "But over the years I've learned to trust your instincts."

He sat in the chair, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. He tapped his fingers together and looked at me over the top. That look made me nervous.

He took a deep breath. "I got a phone call from Tim after I talked to you."

"Something popped about Glen?" My heart pounded. "What did they find out?"

He glanced down at his hands then swung his eyes to mine. "The FBI called Rachel and asked her to back off. Then a friend of hers at the DEA did the same thing."

"The FBI _and_ the DEA? Why would they want her to back off?" I took a sip of my coffee for something to do. It was cold.

"That's the million dollar question," He sighed. "Glen might be in WITSEC. He could be someone they're watching..."

"Either way he's probably not a nice guy, right?" My poor mother.

"Not necessarily," he said. He took a breath. "You know as well as I do, sometimes people get caught up in shit not of their own doing and end up in WITSEC."

He had a point. "Like I could have."

His jaw tightened. "I wasn't gonna let that happen."

I reached over and laid a hand on his arm. "I know that, Raylan." But I did wonder exactly what had happened to that Detroit mob guy, Nicky whatever-his-name-was who'd sent those goons to Gayle's. Raylan told me the situation had taken care of itself, but the intuition Raylan valued so highly told me he hadn't entirely left it to chance. Whatever he'd done though, it didn't seem to be weighing on his conscience and hopefully, it was nothing Art or the Marshal's service would ever find out about.

"Good morning!" Glen slid the door open with one hand, balancing a bakery box with a paper cup of coffee on top in the other. Stella squeezed out behind him, nosing Raylan's hand before bounding down the steps toward the water. "Decaf, milady, and assorted pastries for your pleasure." Glen handed me the cup and made a low bow.

Raylan's eyes met mine over Glen's shoulder and I read his mind: 'Is this guy for real?' I smiled back at him as I poured the decaf from the paper cup into my mug and stirred.

"Winona said you liked bear claws, so I got a couple of those. Now me, I like the crullers. Like to dunk 'em in my coffee." He opened the box and dug one out. "Help yourselves."

Raylan took a bear claw and ate it in three bites, grinning at me and licking his fingers afterwards. Any suspicions he had about Glen evidently stopped at doughnuts. "You want one?"

"Is there a cinnamon roll?"

He handed it to me and grabbed another for himself.

Glen walked to the steps and clapped his hands twice. "Stella," he called. "Breakfast!" A large gray blur leaped up the steps. Laughing, Glen opened the screen door just in time. "That gets her every time."

Raylan finished his second doughnut and wiped his hands on his jeans. "I'm gonna get some coffee."

And chat up Glen, if I knew Raylan.


	6. Semi-True Story

Winona's mother had one of those fancy coffee makers with the individual containers you slide in to produce the perfect cup of coffee. There was a basket filled with colorful cups sitting on the counter. I sifted through. Hazelnut Vanilla. Mocha. Dark Brazilian Roast. Whatever happened to plain old Maxwell House? I finally found Seattle's Best Light Roast and popped it in, pushing the button and waiting. I was opening the fridge to get out the half-and half, when Glen walked in.

"Cream, huh? Had you figured for a black coffee guy," he said as I set the cream down on the counter.

"Had me figured wrong then, didn't you?" I leveled my gaze at him, but let my mouth curve into a slight smile. No need to get his suspicions up.

"Hope not." He shrugged. "''Cause I also had you figured for a pretty nice guy."

The coffee was done and Glen watched as I doctored mine the way I liked it. I leaned against the counter and took a sip. It was good.

"So...you're an honest-to-God U.S. Marshal," Glen said.

"Yep." I took another sip. This wasn't just good coffee, it was excellent coffee. With a machine like this everyone could have whatever they wanted. That would solve the coffee problem at the office. Maybe I'd suggest it to Art.

"Like Wyatt Earp and Matt Dillon?"

"Yep." I nodded. "Only without the horse."

"Lost the horse but kept the hat, huh?" He grinned. "What is it Marshals do exactly?" Glen stuck an orange Florida Gators cup into the machine and waited, his back to me. "What makes you different than, say, the FBI?"

"We do security for Federal judges and witnesses," I said, by rote. "We also take care of prisoner transfers, and look for fugitives."

"Like Tommy Lee Jones in that movie."

I managed not to roll my eyes. "Yeah, escapees, parole violations, that kind of thing. It's not as glamorous or exciting as they make it look. Usually we find 'em at some bar or their ex's place."

"Don't you deal with confiscated property, too?" His coffee ready, he took the cup and turned back around, leaning against the counter his legs crossed at the ankles.

"Forfeiture," I corrected. "When someone is convicted of a crime any property they acquired through illegal activities becomes the government's and we itemize and dispose of it."

"You sell it."

"Yes."

"So where does the money go?"

"Theoretically it's supposed to go back into federal law enforcement, but the way our budget is always getting cut you wouldn't know it."

"How long you been a Marshal?"

This wasn't going so well. Glen was learning a heck of a lot more about me than I was about him. Instead of answering I threw back a question. "Winona says you're a musician."

He gave me an odd look before he answered. "I'm a drummer, if that counts. My ex-wife used to say it was just an excuse to beat on something."

So, he had an ex. Now we were getting somewhere. "You got kids?" My coffee was gone and I wanted more, but it seemed like a lot of hassle to go through just to make one cup. It was a hell of a lot easier to just pour another the old fashioned way. Maybe this wouldn't be such a good idea back at the office after all.

"Two boys, both in their twenties. We aren't close. Their mother and I divorced when they were little, and, well, I wasn't the best father. Not there like I shoulda been." He sighed. "Jason, that's my oldest, he's got two kids of his own now. Lives out in Colorado. I've only seen them a couple of times. I hate that I'm missin' out on bein' a grandfather, but, I guess I understand."

I wondered if Arlo would've felt any regrets if he knew he had a granddaughter he'd never see. I doubted it. "So this band of yours...what kind of music do you play?"

"Oh, it's not my band. Dave's the guy that runs it. Great guitar player, too. We do covers, mostly. Blues, old rock, Jimmy Buffet." I smirked and he shrugged. "Down here you gotta play Buffet. We get a nice crowd out. They're older, but then, so are we."

"How long you been with them?"

"'Bout a year. I hadn't played for awhile, but a buddy of mine knows Dave and told me they needed someone, so I checked it out and here I am. Nothing else, I met Lainey, and that makes it all worth it."

He seemed genuine, about that anyway, and pretty forth-coming about his past, if it was the truth. Still, I rode around for an entire day with Shelby and never once felt that tingle of something being off besides him being in Boyd's pocket. Maybe I was losing my touch.

"So, you said you hadn't played for awhile...what did you do?"

"A little bit of everything. Odd jobs..handyman, short-order cook. Even drove a cab for a couple of months." He paused and it was his turn to change the subject. "Lainey tells me you're from Harlan County. You heard of Dave Alvin?"

"Sure have, seen him play more than once."

"I like that song of his..._Harlan County Line_."

I rinsed my cup out in the sink and nodded. "It's a good one."

I'd run out of reasonable questions to ask and evidently we'd run out of conversation. After a few minutes the silence hung heavily in the small kitchen. Glen cleared his throat and sat his mug on the counter. "Lainey said something about giving you the grand tour of Sarasota today. I'm going to go back again and see if I can rouse her. She was still sleeping pretty hard when I got up."

"On second thought, I think I will have another cup of coffee," I lied, thumbing through the basket. As soon as Glen left, I used the dishtowel to pick up his mug. Wrapping it carefully, I took it back to Winona's room and shoved it into the top drawer.

Rachel had asked me to send a picture, but fingerprints would give us an even better chance of finding out who Glen really was. I wasn't going to risk getting her in any more trouble though, so now I had to figure out how to get someone else to run 'em for me. Local would be good, since that would mean less wait-time. I didn't know anybody in the Sarasota Police Department, but I knew somebody who might.

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

"Let me get this straight," Dan Grant said over the phone later that morning. I could picture him leaning back in his chair looking out his office window at the brilliant blue Miami sky, long legs stretched out in front of him. "You're down here visiting your ex-wife, who's pregnant with your baby - congratulations, by the way. I always liked Winona- _and_ you're suspended _again_, _and_ you want me to get someone at Sarasota PD to run the fingerprints of some guy your ex-mother-in-law is dating."

I ran a hand through my damp hair, not answering right away. Winona was right. I really did need a haircut. I tossed the towel on the bed and pulled a clean t-shirt out of the duffel bag. "When you put it that way it does sound..."

"Presumptuous?" He scoffed. "Look, even if I knew someone over there, and I'm not saying I do, it doesn't sound to me like you have a lot of evidence that this guy is anything other than what he seems to be. People lie about their names for all kinds of reasons."

I told my old boss about the response when Rachel ran the name.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone. "FBI and the DEA both asked her to call off the dogs?" Dan asked.

I knew had him at FBI. "Yep," I said.

"Give me an hour or so and I'll call you back."

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

The Sarasota County Sheriff's office looked more like a bank or library than a police station. The outside was all steel and glass. Inside, the lobby's white walls showed off the abstract work of some local artist. I approached the marble desk and flashed my best smile at the young woman manning it.

"I'm here to see a Deputy Richardson." I automatically reached for my badge, flinching when I remembered I didn't have it. "Chief Marshal Dan Grant from the U.S. Marshal's Miami office called ahead and told him I'd be coming."

"Just a moment," she said. She turned her back to me and typed something into her computer. Her phone buzzed. "Yes," she said. "Alright."

She glanced over her shoulder at me. "He should be right out. You can have a seat over there," she said, nodding toward the chrome and leather chairs lined up along the wall, broken occasionally by a picture or floor-to-ceiling window.

Restless, I paced in front of one, holding the paper bag with the cup and Glen's fingerprints. After a few minutes a door opened and a short, tightly built black man with a graying crew cut and wire-rimmed glasses approached.

"Deputy Marshal Givens?"

"Yes," I said, greeting Dan's Marine buddy. I held out my hand and he took it in a firm grip.

"Craig Richardson." He chuckled. "When Dan told me you'd be wearin' a cowboy hat I thought he was pulling my leg."

"Nope," I said. I handed him the sack. "I appreciate this."

"Yeah, well, we all love to hate the FBI." He shot me a grin and motioned for me to follow. We walked down a narrow hall. Richardson rapped on a door marked Forensics and handed the bag to the heavy-set young man who opened it. "Get me the latents off this as soon as you can, Kurt."

"On it." The door shut without further conversation.

"As soon as he's done I'll scan 'em and run 'em through the system. It'll be a couple of hours before I get anything back," he said. "You could wait, but I might as well just give you a call."

"That'd be great," I said. I rattled off my cell number and left. Traffic was heavier and I went the wrong way on 41. I realized it, and just as I pulled into a parking lot to turn around, my cell rang.

"Are you still meeting us?" Winona asked, a trace of annoyance in her voice. She hadn't been happy with my plan to go through Dan to check out Glen. She thought it was going too far. She also took the opportunity to point out that Art wouldn't like it if he found out. As much as I hated to admit it, she was right about Art. Of course, that hadn't stopped me.

"Yeah, this thing took a little longer than I thought. Where are you?"

"We're at the restaurant, then we're going to meet that obstetrician Mama heard about. She's really in demand. We were lucky to get the appointment."

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for traffic to clear enough for me to turn back out onto the highway. "So you've already decided you're gonna stay here to have the baby?"

She didn't answer right away, and when she did she chose her words carefully. "I'm far enough along that it's probably a good idea to have someone down here, don't you think?"

How could I argue with that? I asked her for the name of the restaurant again. "I should be there in a few minutes."

"We're already running late. Do you want me to order for you?"

"Go ahead," I sighed. "I'll just have a burger."

"A burger? You're in Florida, Raylan. Have some seafood. Mama says the grouper sandwich is really good."

"Fine," I said. "I'll have the grouper. I'm on my way."

I found a spot in the parking lot next to Elaine's car. Just as I slid out and shut the door, my cell rang. I glanced at the number. Shit. "Hey, Art," I said, answering the phone.

"You just couldn't go on a nice quiet vacation somewhere, could you? Maybe Branson? Faylene's always talkin' about goin' to Branson."

Art wasn't yelling, but the quiet exasperation in his voice was worse. So I threw a Hail Mary. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm down here in Sarasota to see Winona."

He blew out a breath and his volume went up a notch. "Bullshit! Did you or did you not ask Rachel to run a name for you? A name that has absolutely nothing to do with any case you're working on?"

Shit. Rachel must've spilled all of it. Or maybe it was Tim. Or, maybe Art was just smart. I backpedaled. "Art, I'm just..."

"Not that it would matter," he barreled on. "...since you aren't working on any cases, because you... are...suspended." There was a long pause. "Unless you want that suspension to become permanent, I would drop this, whatever your reasons are. Whoever he is, this guy is buried deep and the folks in charge want him to stay that way."

I leaned on the trunk of the Lincoln. I could see Winona and her mother at an outside table. Their backs were to me, but Winona craned her neck, searching the parking lot. She smiled and waved when she spotted me and I held up a finger. Her smile faded.

"Look, Art, there's something goin' on with this guy and Winona's mother is crazy about him. I told Winona I'd..."

"Does this feel like deja vu to you?" He interrupted. "Because it sure as hell does to me. How'd that work out for you last time, Raylan?"

I sighed. Might as well come clean. If Art knew this much, he would probably find out the rest. "I called Dan Grant and he got a guy down here at the police department to run Glen's fingerprints. I don't have the results yet, but..."

"Goddamn it!" He was yelling now. "You just don't know when to quit. Now I'm gonna have the FBI and the DEA up my ass and..."

I rubbed the bridge of my nose to ward off the beginning pangs of a headache. "That's why I called Dan. You aren't involved."

"That's bullshit and you know it. You're in this office, you're my responsibility. Goddamn it!" He swore again.

I watched as the waiter approached the table with a platter of food. I could read the annoyed look on Winona's face from across the parking lot. I walked quickly toward them, weaving my way in and out of the umbrella-laden tables.

"Listen, Art," I said. "I gotta go."

"Raylan, take my advice. Just this once. Leave this guy alone. Drop it."

"I'll think about it," I lied.


	7. Boomerang Love

"The doctor was nice, don't you think?" I sat down heavily on the bed and kicked off my shoes. Crossing one leg over the other, I massaged my foot. In a few weeks I wouldn't be able to do this without my belly getting in the way.

"Your feet hurt? Here, let me do that." Raylan tossed his hat on the dresser, toed off his boots, and stretched out beside me. He swung my legs up onto his lap and gave me a pillow. I balled it up and stuck it behind my head.

This used to be our evening ritual back when we were married and living in Georgia. Almost every night after work we'd sit on the couch with my feet in his lap just like this. We'd have a beer together and talk about our days. At Glynco, he never minded sharing the latest funny story about a recruit with terrible aim, the pranks that the instructors played on one another, or the latest idiotic government policy to come down the pike. It was a happy time, and it felt good to remember it now.

Raylan held my foot, digging his thumb into the pad and running it along the arch. "That feels good," I murmured, closing my eyes.

"Maybe it's time to give up the heels," he suggested.

I raised an eyebrow at him.

That slow grin I loved slid across his face. "Temporarily."

"They're fine as long as I don't do too much walking." My eyelids fluttered closed again.

"Uh-huh," he said. "Walk much today?"

I swatted at him, but he leaned away, laughing, and picked up the other foot.

"You didn't answer me about the doctor. What did you think of her?" I cracked one eye open to watch his face.

He shrugged. "I thought you liked your doctor in Kentucky."

"I do, Raylan," I sighed. "I told you. This is just in case. I'm twenty-nine weeks along. I could have the baby early. It happens. Don't you think it's smart to have a doctor here who we can trust?"

"I s'pose. But aren't first babies usually late?"

I stared up at him. "Don't tell me you actually read that book I gave you." I had picked up a book for expectant fathers at the used bookstore around the corner from the bank where Gayle worked and given it to him months ago. I assumed it was still in the back seat of the Lincoln where he tossed it. He was full of surprises today.

"I read a bit of it. Not as much as you, though. Your book is all dog-eared and coffee stained."

My face flushed. "What're you talking about?" His hand slid up my leg, fingers stroking my calf, loosening the tight muscle. It made me tingle all over.

"You left the book just lying there," he said. "I knew you'd spilled coffee on it when I startled you and I didn't want the pages to stick together..."

I should have known. He never missed anything. "Yeah, I hate it when that happens. Thanks for taking care of it."

"No problem." He ran his tongue under his bottom lip and his eyes twinkled. "The question is...why were you readin' that particular chapter?"

I shrugged, flushing again. He switched legs, giving the same attention to my other calf.

"It was an interesting choice is all. Lots of information in there."

"You read it?!" I pulled the pillow from behind my head and buried my face in it, but I could still hear the laughter rumbling in his chest.

"I wasn't expectin' the illustrations." He squeezed my knee. "Those were pretty interestin', don't you think? Imaginative."

Oh, God. "Raylan, I..."

"So is that what you've got on your mind? Sex? With me?"

I threw the pillow aside and studied his face. His expression wasn't serious, but he wasn't exactly teasing, either.

"I always have that on my mind when you're around," I sighed.

"Really? Could've fooled me, 'cause the last thing I remember was you running out on me."

"Oh, Raylan, sex has never been our problem and you know it." I felt the same old argument coming on and having it again wouldn't do us any good. Something was going to have to change if we were going to move forward. I reached for his hand and he let me take it.

"I've missed you, yes." I said, sliding my fingers through his. "And I've thought about it, especially since you got down here. I mean, we're good together and...God," I huffed out a breath of frustration. "I haven't gone this long without sex since I was seventeen."

He glanced down at our linked hands. "Winona, I...I..."

I shook my head and cut him off. "Stop. I don't want to know, I don't want to know." I said urgently. I took a deep breath and refocused. "I don't need to… I know you love me."

"I do," he said, quiet.

"And I love you, too."

He smiled. "So, we've established our mutual affection. Again." He sighed and the smile faded. "But where does that leave us? Same 'ol place? I've gotta go back to work when this suspension is over. You gonna stay here with your mother? Have the baby in Florida? What about after she's born?"

"Mama will drive me insane," I said. "I don't want to live here. I want to go home."

"So Kentucky is home?"

Yes, I thought. Because home is wherever you are. But I couldn't say that. Not yet. Not until I knew I could back it up with a promise to stay. A promise I was sure I would be able to keep this time.

"For better or worse, I suppose it is. And I want Palmolive to be close to her daddy. You aren't going to have to watch her grow up on Skype."

He blew out a breath and I felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. "Alright then," he said.

We fell into comfortable silence. I rolled onto my side and curled myself around the pillow, keeping his hand, I laid it on the swell of my stomach, put mine over it, and started to drift off.

"I'll let you take a little nap," he said after a few minutes, pulling his hand away and starting to push up off the bed.

"Stay," I said. "Please?" I turned my head to catch his eyes.

"Okay." He scooted up behind me and I leaned into him. His hand returned to my belly, spreading his fingers out to cover as much area as he could.

"She's up here." I slid my fingers over his again, guiding. "I'm never sure if it's her head or her little butt." There was a movement against our hands.

"Foot?" Raylan asked.

"Probably. Or elbow or knee." I smiled over my shoulder at him. "I can't wait to meet her."

"You aren't nervous?"

"About what? Taking care of her? Nursing and diapers and all that? No. Labor kinda scares me, but not once she's here. I've watched Gayle. I know I can do this." He was quiet and I could read his mind, all the doubts he couldn't put voice to.

"You'll do fine, Raylan. You're gonna be a good daddy to our girl."

"You think?"

"Yes, I do. I know you want to be, and that's half of it."

"Yeah?" He breathed soft on my neck. "What's the other half?"

"Me, letting you know when you've screwed up."

"Well," he said poking me in the ribs. "You are good at that."

I laughed and snuggled in closer. "We really ought to stop calling her 'baby girl' and Palmolive," I said. "Since we know it's a girl, we could talk about names."

"I have a say? I figured you had somethin' all picked out and you'd let me know when you were ready."

I did have a list of about ten I carried around in my purse, scratching one off every so often and adding another, but I figured we'd at least try to agree on one we both liked. I decided not to overwhelm him with all of them. I rolled onto my back and started with the two currently at the top of my list.

"Well," I said. "I like Sophia or Madeline."

"Those are both nice."

"Nice? Do you like one more than the other?"

"Not really," he said. "Either one is fine."

This was so Raylan. Not really having an opinion, or insisting he didn't care, then telling me a year later that he'd always hated the color of the couch. I didn't want it to be like that with our daughter's name. "What about Hannah?"

"That's nice."

Nice. Again. I counted to ten under my breath. "Abigail?"

He shrugged.

I sighed, exasperated. "I think Mama would like me to use Susanna. That was my grandmother's name." I rolled over so I could see his face.

"Susie?" He sounded skeptical.

"I thought maybe for a middle name."

He chewed his bottom lip and looked at me through half-lidded eyes. "Well, if we're goin' for family names, there's _my_ mother's name, Frances. Aunt Helen always called her Franny."

I couldn't believe he actually suggested something. I thought about it for a minute while I got over the shock. Franny? Hmmm. It wasn't one I would've thought of, but I kind of liked it. Old fashioned names were making a comeback. There was even a Mable in my nephew's preschool class.

"Frances Susanna Givens doesn't sound too bad," I said. "And there wouldn't be three other Frannys in kindergarten."

"You like it?"

"I do," I said.

"You aren't just sayin' that?"

"No, Raylan, I really like it. And I like that you thought of it."

"So, that's it? She's Franny?" He grinned at me. "That was too easy."

"We'll know for sure if it's right when we meet her." I lay my head on his chest.

"And if she doesn't look like a Franny?"

"We'll come up with something." I yawned, and Raylan's broad hand stroked my hair as I dozed off.

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

When I woke, he was propped up against the headboard reading the pregnancy book. He bit his lip as he turned the page and his eyes widened.

"Don't read the labor and delivery chapter," I warned. "It will give you nightmares."

He closed the book. "An' here I thought between my daddy and Aunt Helen, they schooled me in all the facts of life." He shook his head. "I never knew..."

I held a finger to his lips. "Shhh. Let's not talk about it."

"What about those classes the doc told us about. You gonna go?"

The doctor had said that childbirth classes were strongly suggested and a new session was starting next week. I almost fudged and told her I'd gone to some in Kentucky, but Mama was there and knew I hadn't. I wasn't looking forward to having all the grisly details of the process laid out in living color. "I probably should."

He dropped his head, not looking at me. "I could go with you, if you want, since I'm here and all."

"You'd do that?"

"Sure," he nodded.

"So, you're going to stay for awhile? Even if Glen turns out to be on the up-and-up?"

Raylan met my eyes. "I didn't come down here just because of Glen."

I knew that, but it meant a lot to hear him say it. I held his gaze and scooted up, leaning in to kiss him. It started out innocent enough, but his lips were soft and warm and the taste of him brought all kinds of memories rushing back. _Good_ memories. In that moment I could have lived a lifetime. Damn him. This is always the way it started with us; with a kiss. His tongue reached out to meet mine, coaxing me deeper in a long, lingering kiss that would surely change our relationship from this state of hopeful rapport to lovers again. My pent up libido just couldn't be denied.

He ran the back of a finger over the swell of my breast slow, but confident. When I shivered in response he broke the kiss and smiled .

He rested his forehead against mine and whispered. "These are amazin', by the way,"

I pulled away, cocking my head and looking back at him.

"Not that they weren't before."

"Good answer, Cowboy," I said. Our little make-out session had me feeling flirty, and sexier than I had in a long time. I pushed up to my knees and fingered the strap of my sundress. "Wanna see 'em?" I grinned at him.

He swallowed and nodded. "Absolutely."

The sundress was one thing. I knew I could handle getting out of it without looking like an idiot. The maternity bra was something else entirely. God, I hated wearing a bra, but it wasn't optional anymore. Luckily, today I'd opted for the one that fastened in the front. I slid the strap off my shoulder and reached for the clasp. My fingers fumbled and I hesitated. What the hell was I thinking? I was seven months pregnant doing a striptease for my ex-husband. It was almost enough to send me scurrying into the bathroom to cringe in embarrassment. But, this was Raylan, and this was his child distorting my body. He loved me, loved us, no matter what. And I loved him.

He sucked in a breath as I undid the clasps and the fabric slid off my skin. His eyes roamed over the whole of my body. I held my breath as he looked at me, self conscious at first. Then I realized that the curves, all too familiar to me, were new to him. His green eyes shone a glint of wonder and pride under that boyish tousle of graying hair; I let out my breath and relaxed.

He lowered his mouth to kiss my breast so sensuously, so tenderly; I closed my eyes and relished every second of it.

We did our best to work around the obvious obstruction of my pregnant belly. He stretched his body across what was left of the queen size bed, threw a long leg across me and pulled me close. Raylan's signature move. I'm sure it surprised him when I didn't glide as effortlessly over the mattress as in the past, but soon I was right where he wanted me.

I felt him hard against my thigh as he slid close to me. Raylan gave me that breathy little moan against my neck and pressed against me harder. I could feel his pulse against the swollen rivets of his jeans with every beat of his heart. I wanted to reach down and touch him, fondle him, and make love to the man I longed for, but where could this really go in my state?

"I wish I could make love to you, Cowboy"

"'Book says you can."

"Book says _you_ can" I replied.

"Ever hear the story of the little engine that could?" He grinned at me.

"I think I can?"

"I think I can."

"I think I can" I giggled

"I think I can. Heh heh heh heh heh" We kissed.

"Ha ha ha ha. I think I can….."

Raylan covered my mouth with his again, holding me close. Maybe we could make love after all, or at least bring this to some kind of mutually satisfying conclusion. My mind was racing with possibilities when there was a rap at the door.

"Knock knock," my mother's voice sang a warning before the door swung open. I grabbed at the coverlet with a squeak and somehow managed to roll over so my back was to the door. Raylan followed suit, throwing one arm over me, protectively. His chest against my back vibrated with suppressed laughter.

"Oh!" Mama said. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know you two were napping."

Whew. She seemed oblivious. I relaxed in Raylan's arms, hoping my eyes looked sleepy as I turned them up to my mother's.

"I did some laundry." She gave a head nod to the basket in her hands. "And I wanted to tell Raylan that if he didn't bring any shorts, Glen's would probably fit. He has a drawer full in the walk-in in our bedroom."

"Thanks, Lainey," Raylan said. "I might take you up on that."

After Mama put a stack of clean towels on the dresser and shut the door behind her I turned my head and stared at him. "I've never seen you in shorts."

"First time for everything," he grinned. An eyebrow went up. "Besides, your mama just gave me permission to go through Glen's things."

"Do you think you should?"

He widened his eyes, feigning innocence. "I'm just lookin' for a pair of shorts." He cupped my cheek in his hand. "Now, where were we?" He murmured, and his mouth found mine.

_A/N Thanks to Motorcitymade for her invaluable help with the sexy parts. I've been able to post a new chapter each week, but it may be a little longer before the next chapter arrives. Real life is raising its head this week and in the near future. I appreciate everyone who is reading and reviewing and I want you to know that I have no intention of abandoning this...another chapter is coming. Thanks for your patience!  
_


	8. A Lot to Drink About

"Sorry I disturbed your nap." Winona's mother was at the counter, chopping up watermelon and throwing it into a bowl. She slid her eyes to mine and I spied a hint of a grin at the corner of her mouth. Elaine was a smart woman and I wondered if she was as clueless about our thwarted activity as Winona seemed to think.

"I was awake anyway," I said. I opened the fridge and grabbed a beer, popping the cap and leaning against the counter.

"Is Winona still sleeping?"

"She's takin' a shower." I took a long drag on the bottle. "I was wonderin' if I could use your computer for a minute."

"Sure," Elaine said. She reached over and unplugged the laptop. "You can take it out to the living room if you want. We have wifi."

"Thanks."

In the living room, I sat on the couch and put my feet up on the wicker chest masquerading as a coffee table. I flipped open the laptop and pulled up Google, typing into the search box. After a few tries, I found what I was looking for. I sipped the beer while I scrolled through the photographs on the page. I clicked on three, then a fourth for good measure, sent the results to two different e-mail addresses, and closed the laptop with a smile on my face. Winona was going to be surprised.

Walking back into the kitchen, I put the laptop back in place, connecting the power cord.

I grabbed another beer from the fridge. "Thanks," I said.

Elaine looked up. "Oh, you're welcome. It's supposed to be unseasonably hot tomorrow so, if you want some shorts Glen has plenty."

"You're sure he won't mind?"

She shook her head. "Not a bit. You just go on and look. I'm sure you can find something."

"I think I will." I couldn't remember the last time I'd worn shorts, but it would be worth it for the chance to look through Glen's stuff. Hell, I could always say they didn't fit.

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

When you execute a search warrant, there's no need to be particularly neat about it. The people are usually there, they know you're goin' through their stuff, and most of the time they know why. Sometimes when you're looking for something, the bigger the mess you make, the more intimidating it is and the more likely they'll crack under the pressure. But, when you don't have a search warrant, when all you have is suspicions and the opportunity to go through someone's stuff, well, then you have to be careful. And neat.

First, I took a good look around the bedroom. Winona's mother had a king-sized bed covered with a blue comforter and four huge pillows. The headboard had a bookcase on each side. it was easy to see which side was Elaine's. It held a picture of Winona and Gayle when they were little, a candle, and a stack of worn paperback novels. The other side had a bunch of DVDs and the remote control for the flat screen on the opposite wall. I picked up the DVDs: Led Zeppelin: The Song Remains the Same, The Getaway (I was glad to see it was the original, with Steve McQueen), The Wild Bunch, Unforgiven, and three more music videos from Rush, Nirvana, and some band I'd never heard of called Slayer. I had a chuckle at the thought of Winona's mother enjoying a Slayer video before falling asleep. Our taste in music might differ, but Glen and I would have no trouble watching a movie together.

I checked each dvd case. Nothing but dvds, so I turned my attention elsewhere. The bedroom had a huge walk-in closet. Two sets of built in drawers divided one wall. I slid open the top drawer of the one closest to me. Stuffed inside was a tangled jumble of jewelry and scarves. Winona took after her mother. Everything was always neat and tidy on the outside, but open a drawer or closet and all hell broke loose. There was probably some sort of psychological insight there, but I didn't have time for that right now.

I slid another of the drawers open. About a half dozen plain white undershirts were stacked neatly on one side, a pile of boxers on the other. I lifted each pile carefully to look underneath. Nothing. The second drawer yielded the colorful t-shirts Glen was always wearing, a half empty bottle of cheap cologne, and a faded picture of a pretty redhead sitting on a towel in the sand. Two small boys sat beside her and a baby in a pink ruffled swimsuit was on her lap. I turned it over. Scrawled on the back in feminine handwriting it said _Cocoa Beach_, _Summer 1986_. I slipped the photo back and slid the drawer closed. Then, remembering something Glen said, I pulled it open and took another look at the photo. He'd told me he had two boys. He'd never mentioned a daughter. I stared at the photo for a bit before returning it to its place and closing the drawer again.

He kept his shorts in the bottom drawer. I pulled out a pair of faded denim ones and tossed them on the bed for my excuse, then lifted the rest, expecting nothing. Instead of nothing, I found a sig 228. Glen had a gun. And a nice one. I used the hem of my t-shirt to lift it from the drawer and examine it. The safety was on and the gun wasn't loaded. So, Glen had a nice gun, and he knew how to store it properly. Nothing unusual there. The thing that puzzled me was the lack of ammo. If the gun was for protection, it wouldn't do much good without ammo. And if it wasn't for protection, what was it for?

Maybe he kept the ammo separate. I knew Nelson, who had two small kids at home, always put his gun and ammo in different drawers, both locked. No need to lock the gun up here, but maybe Glen still kept his bullets separate, out of habit. A large battered shoe box on the closet shelf caught my eye. Sure enough, when I pulled it down and opened the lid, I found a generous stash of ammo, as well as a folding buck knife and a roll of cash, secured by a rubber band. As Tim would say, my spidey senses were tingling.

I counted the cash. There was around a thousand, mostly twenties. I added up the evidence as I replaced everything carefully in the box. Even all of it together didn't necessarily mean Glen was involved in anything criminal. Maybe he just didn't trust banks. Maybe the band got paid under the table some places and he was just trying to stiff the IRS. Hell, maybe he stripped on the side and these were his tips. Shit. Something was going on. Any hope I'd had of finding out Glen was exactly who he claimed to be was rapidly dwindling.

I'd been in here long enough. I'd have plenty of time to try to make sense of this later, and hopefully Dan's friend would call soon with the results from the fingerprints. I put the box back on the shelf, but it wouldn't slide all the way into place. Reaching behind, I felt around and pulled out a red leather wallet. It must've been tucked on top of the box and slid off. I noticed the initials _MAJ_ embossed on the front as I flipped it open and glanced at the Florida driver's license. At first I thought it was the redheaded woman from the photograph, but this license had expired in 2011, and she'd be a lot older now. But the baby girl on her lap in 1986 would be what? Twenty-five or so in '11?

I read the name. _Meghan Anne Jaworski_. Birthdate November 10, 1985. She smiled in her picture, pretty, long auburn hair, wide set green eyes. She was tall, 5'9" according to the license, and weighed 145 lbs. The address was in Sarasota. There was an insurance card from Blue Cross, three credit cards, all expired, and surprisingly, a twenty dollar bill and several ones still in the inner pocket. My eyes flicked once again to the photograph. Who was she? Was this Glen's unmentioned daughter? And why did he have her wallet? I replaced the box and carefully set the wallet on top. Grabbing the jean shorts from the bed I left the bedroom with more questions than I'd had coming in.

Only one thing was certain. Whoever she was, I had a bad feeling about Meghan.

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

"Your phone rang," Winona said when I slipped into the bedroom, Glen's shorts in one hand. "At least twice. I heard it from the shower and again while I was getting dressed." She turned to the mirror, slipping an earring into each lobe, avoiding my gaze.

I grabbed my cell from the nightstand where I'd left it and checked the missed calls. There were three. Two from Dan Grant and one from a local number I didn't recognize, probably Dan's marine buddy at the sheriff's office. "I need to call Dan back," I said.

"I still wish you hadn't gotten him involved." She laid a hand on my shoulder. "But tell him I said 'hello'. I'm gonna see if Mama needs any help with dinner."

I waited until she was gone to hit 'send' on the phone.

"I'll give you one thing, Raylan. You sure know how to pick 'em," Dan said in greeting.

"What'd you find out?"

"Craig Richardson called me about an hour ago..."

"He didn't need to bother you. I gave him my number," I said.

"He tried you first. When you didn't answer he called me because he's already getting some heat for running the prints."

I blew out a breath. Who the hell was this guy anyway. "And...?"

"Your Glen Underwood is really a semi-retired DEA agent named Walter Jaworski."

"Semi-retired? I didn't know you could semi-retire from the DEA."

"You can't. It's a kind way of saying he's on indefinite leave, but the agency hasn't cut all ties for some reason. I can't get my contacts over there to tell me much more than that. Oh, besides threatening to call the director if I don't 'reign in that cowboy buddy' of mine. They want him left alone."

Great. Art was probably getting the same message. "Dan, I really need to know what's goin' on with this guy."

My old boss sighed. "I figured that's what you'd say, so I did some digging. Turns out he was a pretty good agent. He came out of the Army and worked his way up through the ranks of the DEA. Eventually he headed up his own undercover unit. They were instrumental in gutting a major Mexican cartel about ten years ago."

"He have a family?"

"I'm getting to that. He was married, wife, two sons and a daughter. Marriage broke up about the same time as he started working undercover...no surprise there."

"Anything about the daughter?"

"I didn't even find the kids' names, why?"

"You in front of your computer?"

"Yeah."

"Search for Meghan Jaworski." I spelled it for him.

"Oh, wow," he murmured after a moment.

"What?"

"I remember this. They found her body in a high rise apartment over in Sarasota...not far from where you are. Longboat Key, I think. Dead of an overdose."

A DEA agent with a drug addict for a daughter. But her picture hadn't looked like an addict.

"Thing is," Dan went on. "She wasn't a known user. None of her friends were users. She had a good job, no record. No one believed it." He snapped his fingers. "Marco Reyes."

"Huh?" I said. "Gio's son? The lawyer?"

"Yep. They were engaged."

"We always thought he was clean."

"I know. So did the police in this case. He was away somewhere on business when they found her." Dan talked faster. "I'm remembering details now. This was all over the news. He was distraught. The kind of distraught you can't really fake unless you're Academy Award worthy. He accused his father of having her killed."

"Wow. How did I miss all this with Reyes?"

"This was...oh...a year or so before Tommy Bucks. Weren't you in Italy for a bit then? Goin' after Harry Arno?"

"Mighta been, yeah, the timing sounds right." I thought for a minute. "But wouldn't her father's face have been all over the news? That'd make it pretty hard for him to show up now as Glen Underwood."

"There's nothing about him. I'm looking at her obituary and he's not even mentioned. You sure they're related? Jaworski isn't that uncommon a name."

I told Dan about the photograph and the wallet.

He gave a low whistle. "His daughter dies and he goes undercover as a musician? What's he up to?"

"I have no idea." I said. "But I bet it has something to do with Gio Reyes."

_Harry Arno is mentioned in Memory of Elmore Leonard, a writer whose typewriter ribbon I am not fit to change. If you haven't read his novel Pronto, do it now. RIP, Elmore._


	9. Incommunicado

I woke up at 3 a.m. with a full bladder and an empty bed. After using the bathroom I tugged a sweater on over my nightgown. Stepping around Stella, who was sprawled in the hallway snoring, I went in search of Raylan. I found him on the deck, beer in hand, staring out at the moon shining on the water. The laptop Mama kept in the kitchen was on the seat beside him. I moved it to the table and sat next to him, curling one leg under me.

"Surfing for porn?" I gestured at the computer.

A grin teased the corners of his mouth, then vanished. "I wish." He took a long drag from the beer.

"Sorry about earlier," I said. "Mama's interruption kind of snapped me out of the mood."

"It's alright," he said. He planted a soft kiss on my forehead. "You're right, anyway. We probably oughta take it slow this time." His hand came to rest on my belly. "We got the perfect excuse."

I lay my head against his shoulder. "I just want to be sure, Raylan. It isn't gonna be just us anymore."

"I know." I felt the breath go out of him. "But you know, there ain't no such thing as a sure thing, right? All our 'issues' ain't just gonna go away."

I smiled. "Oh, we have 'issues'? What? You're readin' self-help books now?"

"You know what I mean."

"I do." I nodded. "If we do this again - if we decide to make it work - I'm not goin' anywhere. I promise." I turned my head to look into his eyes. "But you have to make me a promise, too."

"O-kay," he said, hesitant.

"You have to talk to me. What's going on? You were quiet all through dinner. You hardly said a word and your eyes were on Glen anytime you thought he wasn't lookin'. Then I find you out here in the middle of the night with the laptop. I know you hate computers. What did Dan tell you?"

Raylan's chin dropped and he shook his head, weary. After a moment he took a deep breath. "Promise you'll let me finish?"

I nodded. "What have you found out, Raylan?"

"Glen's real name is Walter Jaworski. He's a DEA agent. Sorta."

I leaned back against the cushion to watch his face in the light from the kitchen. "Sorta?"

"When I was gettin' those shorts..."

"You mean when you were searching my mother's bedroom."

Another sigh. "I found a wallet in the closet. It belonged to a Meghan Jaworski."

"Oh, my God, he's married, isn't he? Mama is gonna be..."

He did that clenching thing with his jaw and narrowed his eyes at me. "Let me tell you the whole story, okay? He's not married, and honestly," Raylan pushed to his feet and started pacing in front of me, one hand on his hip the other wrapped around the beer bottle. "I think he really cares about your mama. No, this Meghan was his daughter."

I shivered, even though it was far from cold. "Was?"

"She was murdered two years ago." He finished the beer and set the bottle down.

I listened while Raylan told me the rest of what he knew. Some was fact, but a lot more was what he and Dan thought was probably going on. "So you think he's trying to get at this Reyes guy?"

"He thinks Reyes murdered his daughter, so, yeah, I think he's got somethin' goin'. I just can't figure out what it is."

"We have to tell Mama."

"Not yet."

"Raylan, she deserves to know that he's not..."

He pointed a finger at me. "What? We don't know enough to..."

"We know he's not who he says he is! That's more than enough."

"So what? She kicks him out? Then any chance of figurin' out what he's up to goes right out the window. She's not in any danger. Give me a day or two."

I thought about it. I wasn't exactly anxious to tell my mother we'd been investigating her boyfriend, even if our suspicions had turned out to be warranted. Why not let her be happy for a few more days?

"Alright."

Raylan stared at me, surprised. "Really? You won't tell her?"

"No." I shook my head. "When the time comes, we'll tell her together."

"Or," he said. "Maybe Glen will tell her himself."

"That'd be even better." I stifled a yawn. "Come on, Cowboy, let's try to get some sleep." I figured he'd turn me down, but after he put the laptop back in the kitchen, he followed me to the bedroom. I patted the space beside me and he stripped down to his boxers and crawled in, throwing an arm around me. He was asleep long before I was.

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

Bright sunlight was streaming in the windows when I woke up again. I used the bathroom, ran a brush through my hair, and slipped into one of the sundresses hanging in the closet. The smell of coffee lured me to the kitchen.

"Hey," Raylan said. He raised an eyebrow and I looked from him to my mother. I barely registered her red eyes and the tissue clutched in her hand before she spoke.

"Glen didn't come home last night," she said, her voice small. "I knew rehearsal might run late, so I went to bed. Sometimes he stays at Dave's but he always calls or texts me to let me know. He knows I worry." Her face turned up to mine. "Should I call the police? Maybe he was in an accident."

I stole a sideways glance at Raylan. "Maybe his phone went dead," I said.

"Oh!" Mama brightened. "That could be. He's always forgetting to charge it." Then her face fell. "But why wouldn't he just borrow Dave or Benny's?"

"If he's anything like me, he doesn't know anyone's number anymore," I reassured her again. "If I ever lost my phone, you and Gayle are the only people I could call."

"Do you have a number for any of the guys in the band?"

Mama shook her head. "I don't think so. I've never had any reason to call them."

"Have you tried calling him?" Raylan said.

"Of course I did," Mama snapped. "First thing. It went straight to voice mail."

I patted her arm and crossed to the counter to make myself a cup of coffee. "Well, that's what mine does when the battery runs out. I'm sure he'll walk in anytime now."

But he didn't. The morning came and went. By mid-afternoon, Mama was in a cleaning frenzy, her usual response to any type of emotional stress. The week my father packed up and left eight years ago, she cleaned the windows on their two-story house in Louisville inside and out. Twice.

Now she was vacuuming the living room for the third time.

Raylan set his cellphone down on the counter. "I called Craig Richardson at the sheriff's office. He checked the accident reports from last night and there's no report of an accident involving his truck. No one matching Glen's description is in jail or in the morgue."

"That's good, I guess." I winced and blew out a breath, easing my bulk into the nearest chair. Our baby girl was weighing heavy on me today. I rubbed my stomach in slow circles.

"You okay?"

"Braxton Hix," I said.

Raylan just stared. I guess he hadn't gotten that far in the baby book.

"They're contractions, but nothing to worry about. Most women have them. Can you get me a glass of water? Sometimes that helps."

He got water from the fridge and sat down across from me. "You sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine." I hooked a thumb toward the living room where the vacuum droned on. "I'm worried about her though. Maybe we should tell her what we know."

"Let's give it until tonight," Raylan said. "Can you distract her for a bit, maybe get her to take a walk on the beach?"

"You want to search through Glen's stuff again, don't you?"

He nodded. "I want to see if I missed anything."

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

"I'm sure there's an explanation," I said, digging my toes into the sand. I tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "Didn't Judy say he had a place over in Pompano Beach? Maybe he went there to get something."

Mama stood with her arms wrapped around herself, watching Stella romp in the surf. The dog brought a soggy tennis ball and dropped it at her feet, her whole body wiggling in anticipation. Mama picked up the ball and threw it again.

"I don't think so. Something's going on. I didn't want to see it, but Glen's been acting different - distracted." Her voice broke. "I think he might be seeing someone else."

I started to put my arm around her, but let it fall to my side, I felt too guilty for keeping what we knew from her. "No, Mama, I don't think that's it." Stella returned, this time dropping the ball in front of me and depositing a huge glop of drool on my foot. She panted happily. I patted her head and tossed the ball as far as I could.

"Then what is it?" Mama twisted around to face me. "Raylan called that friend of his...there's no accidents, nothing at any of the hospitals? What am I supposed to think?"

"Does Glen have money problems? When Gary..." I began.

"Glen is nothing like that idiot you married. Not to speak ill of the dead, but I never did see whatever it was you saw in him."

She didn't know the half of it. "I was only saying that Gary used to act distracted and distant when money was tight. Maybe Glen is the same way."

"He hasn't said anything. The house is mine, you know, so all I pay is the upkeep. He's insisted on paying all the utilities since he's been living here most of the time, and we both buy groceries."

There was so much I didn't know about this whirlwind relationship, now, with the revelations about Glen's real identity I felt even more protective of my mother. "When did he move in, Mama?"

She dropped her head, flushing. Even her ears turned pink. "About a month after we met." Hugging herself tighter she took a few steps until the waves lapped at her feet. I followed her. "I suppose it was foolish, but I fell pretty hard; we both did, and it seemed silly to waste time worrying about being 'proper'."

"Who suggested him moving in?" I pressed. Stella had lost interest in fetch and was busy digging a hole in the sand a few feet away.

"I did," she sighed. "Can you believe it?" She glanced up at me. "The band started playing around here pretty exclusively and the drive back to the East Coast was getting to him. We joked about it for a week or so and then I just flat out asked him if he wanted to bring some of his stuff and stay here." Her eyes slid to the dog and the huge hole she'd managed to dig in just a few minutes. "Stella! Come."

The dog raised her head, stared at my mother and trotted over, flopping down at our feet with a sigh. "At least I know he's coming back eventually," Mama said, stooping to pet the dog. "He'd never leave Stella."

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

Raylan slipped out of Mama and Glen's room just as I came down the hall. "That was close," I said. "Did you find anything else?"

"Nope." He leaned against the wall and ran a hand through his hair. "But wherever Glen went, he took his gun and that roll of money I found yesterday with him."

"Oh," I said. "That doesn't sound good."

I followed Raylan into our bedroom. He looked at his watch, then grabbed his hat and keys from the dresser. He slid the hat on.

"Where are you going?"

He held up a driver's license showing a smiling young woman. "I'm gonna go talk to Meghan's fiance."

"Raylan, are you really gonna get involved in this?"

He jabbed a finger at me. "You are the one who got me involved in this, remember? And now, when I wanna figure out what's goin' on, and maybe save Glen or Walter from whatever-the-hell he's doin' you want me to stop."

I bit my lip. I hated it when he was right. I tried a different angle. "But you're suspended. Won't Art get mad?"

"I ain't gonna arrest anyone. I'm not even goin' in as a U.S. Marshal since I don't have a badge. I just wanna talk to the guy. Art's got nothin' to say about what I do on my own time."

"This boyfriend of hers, isn't he connected to that Miami guy who tried to kill you?"

"Gio Reyes." Raylan nodded. "Marco's his son, but they aren't close. Kinda like me and Arlo. Son's a lawyer. Good guy, from what we know."

I studied him. He was a good guy, too. I just wished he didn't feel like he always had to go proving it. "Okay." I took a deep breath and leaned in to give him a kiss. "I trust you."

He looked into my eyes for a moment and his fingers stroked my jaw. Then he kissed me again, deeper this time, one arm sliding down my back, holding me close. We leaned into each other for a long moment. When he pulled away, he patted my belly.

"You be good for your mama now, little Franny. No more fake contractions. You gotta bake awhile longer." He kissed me again, quick on the mouth.

"Be careful, Cowboy," I said.

"Yes, ma'am," He ran his fingers along the brim of the hat and gave me a grin on his way out the door.


	10. Everybody's Got a Cousin in Miami

Marco Reyes worked in a high rise office tower in downtown Sarasota. It rose seventeen stories into the skyline next to the condominium that had been one anchor for Nik Wallenda's high-wire walk across route 42 a few months before. The law offices of Roth, Dixon, and Pak were on the top two floors.

I stepped out of the elevators into a lobby with a panoramic view of Sarasota Bay and the Bay bridge I had just driven across. Before I could approach the marble desk in the center of the room there was the sharp click of heels on tile.

"Can I help you?" The woman was dark-skinned, with short cropped hair and wide brown eyes. I figured her silk suit likely cost more than all the shoes in Winona's closet. And that was sayin' somethin'.

I slipped off the hat. "I'm here to see Marco Reyes."

Her perfect brows furrowed. "Mr. Reyes is in meetings all afternoon. I'm sure that Joscelyne wouldn't have made an appointment."

"Oh, I don't have an appointment."

"I'm sorry, Sir, Mr. Reyes doesn't see anyone without an appointment." She turned away, dismissing me.

"I think he'll see me," I said. I followed her back to the wide desk and slid an envelope across to her, glancing at the name plate by her computer. "Could you give him this for me, Naomi?"

"Sir, I told you. Mr. Reyes is in a meeting. I really can't disturb him."

I leaned on the desk. "Fine, I can wait right here. He has to leave sometime." I smiled at her.

She sighed the sigh of the perpetually annoyed. "If you leave it here, I'll be sure he gets it."

"That's okay," I said. "I'll wait."

"Look, Mr..."

"Givens, Raylan Givens."

"Look, Mr. Givens, I'm sure Mr. Reyes would be happy to give you a call, or you could schedule an appointment..."

"Deputy U.S. Marshal Raylan Givens."

"Do you have an ID?" She looked skeptical.

"Not at the moment, no. I'm here as a private citizen."

"As I'm sure you know, Mr. Reyes practices corporate law, so whatever your problem is..."

"Oh, I don't have a problem. I just need some information."

"I'm sure that information is privileged, Mister Givens," Naomi said icily, with an emphasis on the "mister." Her eyes narrowed. "Even a warrant won't get it for you."

That's when I noticed the Florida bar review books on her desk. She wasn't a lawyer, but she was well on her way. That explained a lot. I had experience with attorneys. If she was anything like Vasquez, arguing and flattery weren't going to get me anywhere.

I picked up the envelope. "Naomi, can I get you a cup of coffee?"

"What? No, I..."

"I'm sure you've got coffee here," I continued. "Probably the good stuff, too. I'll just get myself a cup and bring one back for you." I swung past her before she could propel herself out of her chair on those five-inch heels. It was no contest.

Luckily for me there was only one long hallway stretching out behind Naomi. Reyes was in one of those rooms and it shouldn't be too hard to find which one. I just hoped I could do it before the security guards Naomi was calling caught up to me.

The first door opened to an empty office. In the second one, a short, round man with a sunburned bald head looked up, golf putter in hand, and stared at the door in surprise as his ball rolled past the cup and bounced off the wall.

"Oops, wrong door," I said.

The third office was empty, too. Roth, Dixon, and Pak seemed to be understaffed. But the last door at the end of the hall said 'Conference Room' in large gold letters. How nice of them to label it.

"Marco Reyes?" I said as I opened the door.

The dark head closest to me turned. The young man's mouth opened and I laid the envelope on the table in front of him. "I'm Deputy U.S. Marshal Raylan Givens and I need a word with you," I said. "I'll be in the lobby downstairs."

"You'll be on the sidewalk out front," Naomi fumed. "That's him." She pointed a long slim finger. "The cowboy."

Two security guards came up on either side of me. They weren't big, but the way they moved in their expensive suits - no uniforms for this crew - let me know that every ounce of their body weight was muscle. I didn't resist. They had me almost to the elevator when Reyes ran out, breathless.

"Let him go."

"Mr. Reyes!" Naomi protested.

"Go back to your desk, Naomi. I need to talk to him." He brushed her off and approached me, waving the license in my face. "Where did you get this? Where? _Dios Mi´o_! What do you know about Meg? Tell me! _Complacer_!" Please. He was pleading, visibly shaken.

Everyone in the lobby stared.

"Marco, is there someplace private we could talk?"

"Yes," he breathed. "Naomi, cancel the meeting. I'm sorry. Tell Mr. Kyle I'll look over his proposal and get back to him in the morning. This way, Mr. Givens."

I couldn't resist a wink at a very unhappy Naomi as I followed Marco Reyes back down the hallway. She scowled in return and I shrugged.

"I told you he'd want to see me."

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

The room we ended up in had an even more impressive view than the lobby. Marco headed straight for the wet bar. "I need a drink. You want one? It's just been restocked. I'm sure we've got whatever you'd like."

"I'll take a whiskey, neat. Thanks."

"Jim Beam or Woodford?" Marco asked. "Never mind," he said, pouring the Woodford. He put some ice in a glass, pulled out Grey Goose, and gave himself a generous start.

He handed me a glass and gestured to a seating area near the window. I sat. He took a gulp of his drink and sat on one of the leather couches, leaning forward. Pulling the license from his breast pocket he stared at it for a long moment, then took another drink. "God, I miss her."

Silence hung in the room. I sipped my drink and watched the play of emotions on Marco's face as he gazed at the picture.

Pushing up from the couch he walked to the window and stared out. The sun was just starting its slow slide into the gulf. It was beautiful, if you were into sunsets. Evidently, Marco wasn't. He turned back to me.

"Are you married, Marshal?"

"Not at the moment, no."

"But you have someone, I'd bet." He stooped and picked up his drink, swallowed some, pointed a finger at me. "You seem like a man who'd have someone."

I nodded.

"You love her?"

"I do."

"And she loves you back?"

"Yes, she does."

"Great, isn't it?"

"It can be."

"Meg and I...it was. Great, I mean. From the day we met. It was like a dream...like something you never imagine will ever happen to you and then it does and you're so damn happy..."

I remembered the feeling, and I sympathized with Marco Reyes. I knew what had happened to my dream. What happened to his was worse.

He finished his drink and sat back down, ran a hand through his hair. "At first I was sure it wasn't going to last. How could it? It was too perfect. But then, after awhile, it was just normal, you know?" His eyes met mine. "I had this girl and she loved me and I loved her and we were gonna have this great life together. And then..." He sucked in a breath and reached for his glass, but stopped.

I waited.

He looked up at me, holding the license between his thumb and forefinger. "Where'd you get this?"

"Her father."

"Walt?" He looked puzzled.

"You knew him?"

"Sure," he said. "Meg and I used to have dinner with him every other week or so, when he wasn't off working."

"Strange that he wasn't mentioned in her obituary."

Reyes gave a snort and got up to get himself more vodka. "Not if you know her mother. Bitter doesn't begin to describe that woman. She turned her boys against their father, but she never managed to turn Meg. That pissed the hell out of her."

I watched as he poured himself a double.

"How do you know Walt?"

"I don't. I know Glen Underwood."

Marco Reyes paled. "What did you say?"

"I said, I know Glen Underwood. I'm guessin' you do, too. Am I right?"

Reyes swallowed his second drink in one gulp and poured himself another. He held up the bottle of Woodford and I nodded. Picking up the vodka and his glass along with the whiskey, he brought everything back, setting it all on the table. He planted himself back on the couch, forgetting my refill. I poured it myself and gave him a minute.

"My father," he paused. "I'm assuming you know who my father is."

"Gio Reyes."

"Yeah. So you also know what he is."

"I'm a deputy U.S. Marshal, Marco, I know a lot about Gio and what he does."

"Shit. That's it." He laughed, but there was no joy in it. "Raylan Givens. I knew I'd heard that name somewhere. You're the guy who shot Tommy Bucks. God, my father _hates_ you." He reached up and loosened his tie. "Didn't he send some goons up to Tennessee or someplace to kill you?"

"Kentucky." I took a sip of whiskey. Evidently Marco had sources within his father's organization.

"What happened?"

"They missed."

"Good. Good. I love it when my father's plans go awry." He sat his glass down, vodka sloshing. "That's why I'm here, doing what I do." He there was a flash of a smile. "I assure you, this was not in his plans for me."

I raised an eyebrow. "I would think Gio would welcome a lawyer in the family."

"I don't work for my father."

"I never said you did."

"I work for my step-father, Marvin Roth."

I raised my glass. "Well, that's one surefire way to piss your old man off."

He nodded. "Marv and my mother warned me not to push it too far."

I heard the unspoken 'but' and waited.

"My father has some legitimate business pursuits."

"Many criminals do."

Reyes took a long swallow. "Two years ago one of his shadow corporations was in negotiations with a company we represent." His knee bobbed up and down, nervous energy finding its way out. "There was talk of a merger, and it would have meant a great deal of money and some new international connections for Gio."

"Which he then could have used for his other not-so-legitimate business pursuits."

"Exactly," Marco said. "So I stopped it. But when he figured out that I was the one who warned the company away from him, he had her killed."

I knew enough about the law to know that Marco could get in big trouble for what he was telling me. With the amount of vodka he was putting away, that was probably the least of his problems. "You think your father killed Meghan?"

"I know he did."

"Police report says it was a drug overdose."

"Meg wouldn't touch drugs!" He shouted. "I tried to tell them. She was..." he choked back a sob and shook his his head. "Sorry."

"The police wouldn't listen?"

"No." He leaned forward, hanging his head. "I was in Chicago on business. She was supposed to go with me, we were going to make it a quick vacation. But we'd just gotten this puppy - her idea - and Meg wouldn't leave her. That's how they found her. There was no one to let it out of the crate so the puppy barked and barked and one of the neighbors called the police."

"Stella." I said.

"Yeah, that was her name. Walt took her." Reyes dropped his head. "I couldn't deal with a puppy."

His hand shook as he reached for the bottle and more vodka sloshed into the glass. Some splashed onto the table. I hoped he wasn't driving home.

He took a swallow and closed his eyes, leaning back on the leather. "I couldn't deal with anything."

"I didn't always hate him, you know." After a few minutes he let out a sigh and set the glass on the table. "He and my mother divorced when I was eight. My sister was just a baby. Mom had her own money, and her family had some influence, so Gio couldn't stop her when she decided to move here. I was angry. I was just a kid. I loved my father, ya know? I idolized him the way boys do. I thought he could do anything and I wanted to be just like him...a big business man with all these people to do whatever I told them."

"When did you find out what he really did?"

"_That _revelation was courtesy of your friend Tommy Bucks."

I would've loved to hear his story, but chances are it would only lead to another one and Marco wasn't slowing down on the vodka. I didn't want him to pass out before I found out what he knew about Glen-Walt and where he might be.

"Back to Glen Underwood," I said. "What's he up to?"

Reyes stared at me blankly for a moment, then shook his head. "I'm not sure, exactly."

"Well," I said. "He's missing, so anything you know would be helpful."

"Missing?" He stumbled to his feet. "Shit. How long?"

"Just since last night."

Marco ran his hands over his face. "This is sooner than we thought," he mumbled.

"You really need to tell me what you know."

He went to the fridge under the wet bar and pulled out a can of one of those energy drinks. He popped the cap and gulped some down. "Despite all the press to the contrary," he said. "The U. has done a fairly decent job shutting down some of the main over-land drug routes out of Mexico, especially to the east coast. Someone who could come up with an alternative could make a lot of money. Gio likes money."

"What's he got goin'?"

"Tour boats and fishing boats go out into the Gulf everyday. The Coast Guard pretty much ignores them, other than surprise inspections two or three times a year. All you have to do is figure out a way to make a drop and someone to pick it up."

"And you think Gio has figured out a way to do that?"

Marco grinned and shook his head. "Nope, But Glen Underwood has."


	11. Coastal Confessions

I stretched out, putting my feet on Raylan's lap. "So you think Glen is off meeting with Gio Reyes?"

Raylan took a bite of the cold pizza and nodded. "Umm hmm," he mumbled and swallowed. "Marco said Glen's determined to bring Reyes down. He's already met with a couple of Gio's 'representatives'. I know one of 'em." He grabbed his beer from the arm of the couch and took a long swig.

"Who?" I envied his beer as I sipped a glass of water, trying to quell my heartburn. Pizza probably had been a bad idea, but Judy had talked Mama into going to card club for the distraction and I'd been hungry. Onions and peppers on the pizza had been a really bad idea, but I loved them and I was getting tired of denying myself. I watched as Raylan took another sip of beer before he answered.

"Her name's Pilar. She's Gio's niece, which makes her Marco's..."

"...cousin, Raylan, I can figure that out. How do you know her?"

"She was part of that shoot out where Boyd's daddy got killed. After, she ran, Boyd followed her, I followed him." He blew out a breath. "Long story short I shot her in the leg and delivered her back to Gio."

I took another drink of water. This conversation wasn't helping my heartburn.

"Marco said Glen planned on meeting up with Gio himself next week. He thinks somethin' must've happened for him to move it up."

Franny gave a kick and my heartburn went up a notch. I swung my feet off Raylan's lap and got up, pacing in front of the television and wishing I could belch. I rubbed my stomach in slow circles. The baby was kicking up a storm. I hoped she didn't have indigestion too.

"You alright?" He closed the pizza box and came to stand beside me, laying a hand on my shoulder.

"I shouldn't have eaten onions and peppers on the pizza," I said. "They don't agree with Franny."

"Can you take somethin'?"

"Maybe. I'll have to check." I bit my lip. "Raylan, when Mama gets back, I think we should tell her what we know."

"We don't know that much yet," He protested, like I knew he would. "Marco isn't sure where Glen is, but he has a contact number for another guy who might. He was gonna call tonight and then let me know."

"What're you gonna do? You're suspended."

He dipped his head and ran a hand through his hair. "Dan was gonna call Art and ask if he could borrow me."

'Borrow you? For what? This isn't a Marshal's case. Reyes isn't a fugitive, is he?"

"Not technically, no."

I sighed and leaned against him. "I hear a 'but' there."

"Well, technically we could go after Pilar and there'sa couple of guys on Gio's crew that are low level fugitives. The Miami office has been watchin' 'em, hopin' they might be able to lead them to Gio in some round about way. Dan sees this as a great opportunity, and if I'm in on this, right after gettin' Drew Thompson, I could write my own ticket."

I pulled back and looked at him. His eyes were bright.

"Art's got mandatory retirement starin' him in the face. He's gonna have to pick someone. With two big cases under my belt, well, he'd have a hard time convincin' the higher ups there's someone in our office better qualified."

"I thought you said he was grooming Rachel. Wouldn't there be hard feelings?"

Raylan shrugged. "There's other possibilities."

"Oh?"

"Dan's assistant chief is gettin' the chief's job in Atlanta. We always liked workin' together, Dan and me." He ran his tongue under his bottom lip. "We'd be closer to your mama, that is if you..."

"Let's wait and see, okay?"

Raylan dropped his head, but raised his eyes to mine. "What I'm sayin' is that we should make this decision together, don't you think?"

I nodded and wrapped my arms around him, tucking my head under his chin. "Just remember, you already got Drew Thompson, that's something. You don't have to get Reyes, too."

"Yeah, but that would be some sweet icing on the cake."

I took a deep breath. He'd set his sights on finishing this and I had no one to blame but myself for getting him involved.

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

I woke with a start and saw that the movie we'd been watching had been replaced by a baseball game. Raylan had one eye on the game and the other on the papers he had spread out on the coffee table. I yawned and sat up. "What're you workin' on?"

"Dan called in a favor and got me a copy of the file on Meghan Jaworski's death. I picked it up on my way back here. I'm just lookin' over it to see if anything jumps out at me." He shuffled some photos out of sight. "You don't need to see those."

I didn't argue. Between our marriage and working in the courts, I'd seen enough gruesome crime photos to last a lifetime. They didn't used to bother me. But now I ran a hand over the swell of our daughter and leaned against his shoulder. "How was she murdered?"

"That's just it. Everything seems to point to a drug overdose." He sighed. "Everything except the fact that she wasn't a known user and had none of the habits of one."

"There's always a first time."

He looked over at me. "That was the angle I was going at this from. That it _is_ exactly what it looks like, a horrible accident. But..."

"But your gut tells you it isn't."

He flopped back onto the pillows and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, but I'm not sure if it's my gut or what I know about Marco and Glen. They're both pretty sure this was no accident."

"But they're both emotionally involved."

He picked up one of the papers and got up, pacing around the living room. "The security guard on the desk remembered seeing Meghan coming in with the puppy around eight in the morning. As far as we know, that's the last time she was seen alive."

"Except by whoever killed her, if someone did."

"Yeah. Neighbor called the police about the dog barking a little after 10 pm. They go in, find her and drug paraphernalia and chalk it up to another overdose. Coroner confirms death is by heroin intoxication and sets time of death at around 2 pm, give or take an hour."

I listened, knowing he was mostly talking to himself.

"There are fingerprints. Hers on the syringe, hers and Marco's in the kitchen and throughout the apartment. But - and here's the first piece that puts doubt on the assumption of an overdose - no prints on the coffee table in front of the couch where she was found."

"Someone wiped it down?"

He nodded. "Had to. How could there be no prints if she sat there to do it? All the stuff is there...her prints all over it. But none on the table."

"So..."

He kept pacing. "The building they live in has security. No one in or out but residents unless they have a pass."

"Did she have a cleaning service?"

"Huh?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "She worked full time, right?"

"Yeah, she worked at a bank." He stooped and glanced at one of the papers. "Gateway. She was an investment specialist."

"She had a cleaning service," I said. "I'd bet on it. Even Mama had one when she first moved down here and was volunteering a lot at the hospital. Judy next door has one, I saw the truck the other day, _Merry Maids_ or something like that."

"Wait a minute." He ruffled through the papers. "There's a copy of the sign in sheet for the day she died." He found what he was looking for and scrolled down the list. "I gotta call Marco. I just hope he's sober enough to answer a couple of questions." He grabbed his cell phone and headed for the kitchen, then doubled back, giving me a quick kiss. "Thanks."

He came back in a few minutes later with another beer and a smile on his face. "You were right."

"Oh?" I grinned at him. "And you're surprised?"

"Meghan did have a cleaning lady. Thursday wasn't her regular day, but Marco remembers the service had cancelled earlier that week."

"If Meghan had a job, why was she home on a Thursday?"

"I wondered about that, too. Marco said she worked some Saturdays so she took a day off, or at least a half day, during the week."

"So if someone showed up..."

"Even if it wasn't their regular girl..."

"Meghan would've let her in without questioning." I remembered how trustingly I had let those delivery men into Gayle's house and shivered. Raylan met my eyes and I knew he remembered, too.

"Yep."

"What maid service did they use?"

"Something called _The Maid Brigade_."

"Do you think they keep records back that far?"

"Don't know, but I'm gonna find out." He reached for his phone.

"It's after ten o'clock at night," I reminded him. "They're closed."

"Shit. Guess I'll have to wait until tomorrow." He shuffled through the papers, found what he was looking for, and leaned back to read.

I picked up the laptop off the table and settled myself back on the couch, logging into my e-mail account. It had been a few days since I'd checked it, and Gayle had promised to send pictures of the new sofa she'd bought.

"Raylan...what's this?" He looked up from the file and craned his neck to see over my shoulder.

"Houses." He looked back at his papers, feigning disinterest.

"I can see that."

He shrugged. "Rachel'd mentioned this website that offers virtual tours and I thought you might like to take a look. If you're comin' back to Kentucky you're gonna need someplace to live."

"Yes, I am." I nodded. I wondered if this meant what it seemed to. I wondered if I should ask or just assume and say nothing. I wondered if we were really going to try this again. At least he'd made an effort. I clicked on the first picture. The house was in Louisville. So maybe he wasn't thinking of us...just me and the baby. He leaned in to look over my shoulder, his hair brushing my cheek.

"That's in Louisville, but the drive wouldn't be that bad."

I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. I clicked another link and we took a video tour of the house. The narrator had a nasal tone and the kitchen was dingy and old-looking. Clicking out I went to the next photo. This one was in Lexington, in an older neighborhood. The houses were close together, but it had a neat brick sidewalk and a front porch lined with flower boxes.

"I like the big backyard," I said.

"Plenty of room there for a swing-set."

I tilted my head back and looked up at him, a picture forming in my head of our little girl shrieking in delight as her daddy pushed her higher and higher. I stretched up and gave him a quick kiss.

"Are we really gonna do this again?"

"You up for the challenge?" He winked at me, but his gaze turned serious. "'Cause if you're not..."

"Let's look at the rest of the houses, okay?"

He let that be my answer for the moment. The next two houses were nice, but nothing special leaped out at either of us. The last house was in Frankfort.

"It's about halfway between Lexington and Louisville," Raylan said. "You'd be closer to Gayle, and there's the state courts there if you wanted to go back to work."

There was no video for this one, so I clicked through the pictures. It was a split-level, with an office above the attached garage, three bedrooms, and a master suite with a whirlpool tub. "It has a pool. Can we afford a house with a pool?"

"It's in foreclosure, so it's a pretty good price."

"Don't those houses get rundown?"

"I liked this one, so I had Tim run by and give it a once over. He knows some things about construction and he said it was in good shape from the outside. Even looked like someone had been taking care of the pool. Maybe you could ask Gayle to look at it with the realtor and report back to you."

"That's an idea. I could have her look at the other one, too, the one in Lexington with the yard."

"It'd be nice to have a pool."

I stared at him. "Do you even swim?" I tried to picture Raylan in some of the swim trunks I'd seen here on the beach and had to choke back laughter.

"I meant for you and Franny, but yeah, I swam in the creek and Miller's Pond down in Harlan as a kid. It's not somethin' you forget."

"We should go to the beach while you're down here," I teased. "Glen has a about a dozen pairs of swim trunks. You could borrow one."

"_If_ I go swimmin' I'll buy my own, thank you very much."

Stella, who'd been sleeping at our feet, raised her head and gave a short 'woof'. Leaping up, she padded to the sliding door out to the deck, growling low in her throat.

"That's strange," I said. I started to push up, but Raylan motioned me back.

"You stay here," he said. He took his gun from the top of the bookcase.

"It's probably just the neighbor's cat or something," I said. "Please don't shoot it."

He held the gun low at his side as he approached the door. "Hey girl," he said, slipping his hand through Stella's collar. "What'dya see out there?"

Stella's answer was another growl, but her tail was thumping excitedly. Ignoring Raylan's directive to stay put, I inched up behind him. "What's that?" I asked, pointing to a shadow at the bottom of the steps.

"I don't know." Raylan slid the door open, attempting to block Stella with his leg. As he stepped forward, she gave an excited bark and leaped past him, knocking him off his feet. He landed on his ass as his gun skittered across the wooden boards.

"Godammit!"

The dog bounded off the deck, landing at the bottom in a squirming, whining heap, right on top of the shadowy figure.

"Stella," a weak voice groaned. "Down girl, down."

I stared down at Raylan as I moved past him toward where the dog crouched, still whining. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." He pushed to his knees and rose, blocking my path.

"But, that's Glen, isn't it? Is he hurt?"

"You stay here this time," he said, pointing that finger at me. He stooped and picked up his gun.

I leaned one hand on the table and watched him go down the steps. Stella gave a low growl as he approached.

"It's okay, girl," he said, his voice low. "I'm not gonna hurt him. Glen?" He bent lower then called out. "Winona! Call an ambulance."

I moved back toward the house.

"No." Glen's voice. "No ambulance. I'm just winded. Swam..." he gasped and fell silent.

"You got a gash in your head and..."

"No ambulance," Glen insisted, his voice a little stronger.

"What should I do?" I said.

"Wait a sec. Let me see if I can get him up on the deck." Raylan slipped his hands under the older man's arms and raised him to his feet. Water dripped from his hair and clothing and the gash in his forehead was bleeding badly. By the time they got to me, Raylan was soaked and bloody as well.

Glen sank into one of the deck chairs, eyes closed. "Let me catch my breath," he murmured.

"Glen!" Mama burst out of the house onto the deck followed by Judy. "Glen, my God! Where have you been? I've been worried sick." She stopped just short of where he sat and stared. "You're bleeding. And why are you all wet?"

"Let's get Glen dried off and do something about his head and we can talk about all of it," Raylan said.

"I'll get towels." Judy walked purposefully back into the house, returning with a stack of beach towels.

Twenty minutes or so later, we were gathered around the kitchen table. Stella had somehow managed to wedge her bulk underneath, laying her head on Glen's foot. Glen had a butterfly bandage on his head courtesy of Judy's first aid skill, and he and Raylan had tumblers of bourbon. My stunned mother and Judy had glasses of wine. Once again the odd woman out, I had water. On a positive note, my heartburn seemed to have been shocked into remission.

Raylan finished telling what he knew. Glen just nodded. "That's about all of it."

"I can't believe..." Mama shook her head and dabbed at her eyes with a balled up tissue.

"'Lainey." Glen reached across the table, but she snatched her hand back before he could touch her. "I am so sorry. I didn't wanna hurt you. That's why I didn't tell..."

"...the truth?" Mama finished, her voice shrill. "You lied to me about who you are. I thought we loved each other! Why couldn't you tell me?" Judy patted her shoulder.

"I do love you, Lainey." Glen hung his head. "But I couldn't tell you. It..." his eyes sought Raylan's, pleading for help from a fellow lawman.

"It's part of the training," Raylan said with a sigh. "When law enforcement officers go undercover, the rules about who can know and who can't are pretty basic. No one knows except the officer in charge and a few key players...not family...not friends...no one. It has to be that way."

"It's to keep you safe," Glen said.

"And him safe, and protect the integrity of the operation."

"I need some time." Mama swallowed the last of her wine and pushed back from the table. "I'm going to stay next door with Judy tonight, if that's okay with her."

"Of course it is, Honey," Judy said. "I'll throw some things in that pretty overnight bag for you." She disappeared down the hall.

"Mama," I said. "It's your house. Glen can..."

"Look at him," she interrupted. "He's exhausted and hurt and he has nowhere else to go. I'm not sending him away to some motel when there's a perfectly good solution." She sighed. "Besides, I'd imagine Raylan's not finished with him. I'll stay at Judy's and we'll talk about this tomorrow."


	12. Everybody's on the Run

Glen looked from Winona to me and back again. "I suppose you both think I'm an asshole."

To my surprise, Winona shook her head. "No, I get it." She got up and lay a hand on Glen's shoulder as she walked by. "Mama will too, I think. Eventually. I'm sorry about your daughter."

"Thank you," Glen said. "Goodnight, Winona."

"Goodnight." She stretched up to give me a kiss. "I'm going to try to get some sleep."

"Okay," I said. "I'll be along in a few minutes."

She raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Whatever you say, Cowboy."

"So," I said, pouring myself another shot of bourbon and turning my attention back to the man sitting at the table. "You wanna tell me what happened tonight, Walt?"

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, wincing. In addition to the gash on his forehead, he had a nasty lump on the back of his head which told me he was knocked out for some portion of the evening.

"I was supposed to meet Gio at this Italian restaurant out on Siesta Key." He took a sip of the bourbon. "Quiet little place, off the main drag. Great food. Guy who runs it is straight from Little Italy in N-Y-C."

"And...?"

"When I got there, no Gio." He wrapped both hands around his glass and stared down into it. "He'd sent Pilar again, instead."

"Bet that pissed you off." I took a slow sip.

"You have no idea."

I waited for him to go on.

"She acted like I should be happy to get her. Like I wasn't important enough to bother Gio with and she was the one running this show. I got pretty harsh with her. Called her Gio's '_little bitch_' in the middle of the restaurant. Owner asked us to leave."

"That's never good."

"No." A slight grin creased his face. "And I was really looking forward to my eggplant parmesan, too."

I chuckled. Despite all of it, I liked Glen. Or Walt. Whatever. "So how'd you end up in the water with a nasty bump on your head?"

"I followed her out of the restaurant to her car. It was an SUV." He glanced up at me and tapped the table with a finger. "That's important later."

"Okay." I nodded.

"She was screaming at me, mostly in Spanish, and I grabbed her wrist to try to calm her down so I could make my point, which was that Gio needed to take me seriously if he wanted the business opportunity I was offering. I was gonna tell her that I had someone else who was interested."

"Do you?"

"Nah, not really, but there's a guy over in Tampa, Sharice DuPont, black guy, gangsta type. Wears a t-shirt with TuPac's picture on it and likes to think he's a player. He's getting a bit of a name for himself here on the west coast. Gio would wipe the floor with him and his crew in about ten seconds, but I was going to drop his name."

"Sharice?"

"Yeah, seriously." He shook his head. "Who names their son Sharice?"

"So what happened after you grabbed her?" I couldn't imagine Pilar taking that well.

"I don't know. She must've had back-up. Someone conked me on the head. I never saw 'em coming. When I came to, I was in the back of the SUV and we were moving."

"You weren't tied up?"

"No, that was a lucky break. They must've thought I'd be out for awhile."

"They?"

"I heard two voices from up front. The radio was loud, so couldn't make out much of what they said, but I'm pretty sure I heard Marco's name." He paused. "And yours."

"Mine?"

"Yeah. Anyway, I couldn't risk lifting my head to look. I wasn't sure what they might do if they knew I was awake. I heard a rumble and realized we were crossing one of the bridges so I decided to take my chances. I opened the door and rolled out. I knew they would stop and come back, so as soon as I got my bearings I went over the guardrail into the water. Bumped my head on the way down and damn did that salt water sting." He touched the bandage gingerly.

"Did they come after you?"

"Someone, I'm pretty sure it was Pilar, fired a couple of shots into the water, but I was hanging under the bridge. They drove away and parked at the pull off for the beach. Since I couldn't get out of the water without them noticing, I just hung on and waited. It wasn't quite dark and there were some boats coming in, heading for the dock farther down the island. I grabbed onto a rope trailing from one and let it pull me."

"Weren't they watching the boats?" I wondered how Pilar missed him. She didn't seem stupid to me.

He shrugged. "If they were, they didn't see me. I went under tried to stay as long as I could. When the boat pulled into a dock down the beach, I waded out and when I was sure they weren't following, I walked back here."

I studied him for a moment. He was clearly exhausted, and the bourbon was compounding it. I thought he probably had good instincts, but I wasn't taking any chances.

"Stay here," I said, picking up the gun. "I'm gonna check things out outside."

"I wasn't followed." Glen insisted.

"I hope not."

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

I made two circuits around the house and checked out Judy's next door for good measure. Nothing. The street was quiet and there were no strange SUV's parked anywhere. Satisfied, I was heading back inside when my phone rang.

"Art didn't go for it," Dan Grant said. "Would you like the litany of four-letter words he assaulted me with as he turned me down?"

"Nope." I sighed. I didn't want to go behind Art's back, but it looked like I was gonna have to. I wasn't giving up on this. No way.

Dan interrupted my thoughts. "Knowing you the way I do, I figured you weren't going to let go of this particular bone. So I went over his head."

"Over his head?"

"I called Karen."

"Karen?" Shit. "You called the Deputy Director of the Marshal Service?"

"I called our friend, Karen Goodall, who happens to be the Deputy Director, yes."

I wasn't sure she and I had exactly been on friendly terms the last time we parted company. "What did she say?"

"Besides asking if you were still dating 'the blonde'?" Dan snickered. "She said if I thought you could help us bring down Gio Reyes I could use you all I wanted. She's going to call Art and let him know."

I rubbed my temple, warding off a headache. "That'll go over well."

"Yeah, well, she's also going to assure him that you will complete your full thirty-day suspension once this is over...no matter the outcome."

"In other words, even if we get Gio..."

"You are still in the doghouse."

I had a feeling that after this I was gonna be in Art's doghouse for a long, long time.

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

Back inside, the kitchen was empty. Glen must've headed to bed. I decided to do the same.

I flipped off the hall light before I opened the door so I wouldn't wake Winona. I set my phone down, slipped off my shirt, and eased onto the bed.

"How's Glen?"

I tugged off a boot and shifted my weight to look at her. "Why aren't you sleepin'?"

"Because your daughter is wide awake." She took my hand and put it on her stomach. "I think she's running in place. Either that or practicing to be a Rockette."

It was easier to feel the movement than it had been less than a week ago when I got here. The kicks against my hand were firm and determined. "Doesn't that hurt?"

"No, it was weird at first, but I'm used to it now. It's kinda like she's talkin' to me." She sighed. "I just wish we could have these long conversations during the day."

"She'll be here soon enough."

"You do know she won't be talkin' to us for quite awhile, right?" Her smile flashed in the dark.

I slid an arm around her and she snuggled close. "Did I tell you about this report they had on the news about babies using sign language? Really young ones, too. They were tellin' their parents what they wanted instead of cryin' and fussin'."

"Umm hmm. I read about it somewhere." She yawned. "But you don't start until they're about six months old. She's still gonna cry and fuss sometimes."

"I know that," I said.

"Keep talking. She's quieted down. I think she likes your voice."

"What'dya want me to talk about?"

"Tell her a story. You're good at stories." She raised her head and eyeballed me. "No work stories."

I ran my fingers through her hair and thought for a minute.

"Come on, Cowboy," she said. "You've got to have something."

"Okay. Okay," I chuckled and tapped on Winona's belly with a finger. "Hey there, baby girl. You wanna hear about how your momma and I met?"

"Raylan!" Winona looked up at me and shook her head. "Not that story, either."

"Why not?" I raised an eyebrow, going for the innocent look. "Don't all kids want to know how their parents got together?"

"Then we need to make up a PG version."

"Oh, so you don't want me to tell her how you practically jumped me right there in the bar?"

"That's not how I remember it."

"Of course not."

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I let you buy me a drink and you were so tongue tied it took you ten minutes to say your name."

I wagged a finger at her. "Well, you kept starin' at me with those big blue eyes."

"I liked the hat."

"Oh, so that was it."

"Uh-huh."

"The hat."

"Y-eah." She smiled. "The hat."

I leaned in and gave her a kiss and she stroked my jaw with long fingers. "You ever wonder what it'd be like if we'd stayed together the first time?"

I shrugged and ran my hand lightly over her stomach. "I've wondered how many of these rugrats we'd have, I s'pose."

"Oh, at least two, I'd bet." Her head slipped back to my shoulder and we lay there, quiet.

"I really don't want her to be an only child," Winona said after a little while.

"I didn't turn out so bad."

"No, but..."

"But?"

"I just don't want her to be lonely."

"She'll have her cousins. She'll have us."

"Yes, but sometimes I don't know what I would do without Gayle. She's always there for me. Family is important."

Family. I thought about what it might've been like to have a brother or sister, someone else who knew the hell of growing up in Arlo's house. I wondered if it would've made a difference in how everything turned out. But there's no changin' the past. The future, though, was a different story.

"Let's just see how it goes with this one before we talk about more." I stroked her cheek. "Come on, now, let's get some sleep."

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

My phone buzzed on the nightstand at 6 a.m. I picked it up, glancing at the screen. It was Art. Great. Just how I wanted to start my day, with a verbal ass-whooping.

"Hold on a minute," I said. Slipping from the bed, I tugged jeans on over my boxers and went out into the hall, shutting the door behind me. "Yeah? What's up?" I made my way out to the kitchen, popped a capsule into the coffee machine, and leaned against the counter to wait.

"You know perfectly well, what's up," Art said. Then there was a sigh. "Look, you got your way. Again. I may've been overruled on this whole Jawroski thing, but you are still _MY_ marshal and you are gonna serve out the entire suspension _I_ gave you when this is over, _capisce_?"

"Art, I..."

"Spare me, Raylan." He sighed again. "I gotta go. We're short-handed around here you know. Give Winona my best." He disconnected.

I stared at the phone. I would've preferred the ass-whooping.


	13. A Thousand Steps to Nowhere

After Art's phone call, I took a shower. Letting Winona sleep in, I got the morning paper from the driveway, took my coffee to the living room, and flicked on the television. The news announcer was standing in front of a high rise, several fire engines and an ambulance behind him.

"_...residents have been evacuated safely. Authorities are not saying whether this fire was arson or just accidental. Mr. Reyes was not home at the time. Again, the penthouse apartment of Miami businessman Gio Reyes destroyed by fire overnight. More information as we have it. This is Kirk Kennedy, for WPLG 10._ "

Shit. I grabbed my phone and called Dan Grant. He answered on the first ring.

"They're not saying it yet, but the cops think this was deliberately set," he said without preliminaries. "Fire started in the shaft of his private elevator."

"An attempt on Gio?"

"Wouldn't be the first."

"I know what you're thinking," I said. "It wasn't Glen."

"Walt Jaworski you mean. And you know that how?"

"He showed up here last night." I glanced toward the still-shut bedroom door and filled Dan in on the details.

"So, Pilar is Gio's second now?"

"It would seem that way."

"Maybe you should've taken her out when you had the chance."

"I was tryin' to be prudent."

"What about Marco?" Dan said. "You think he'd try to off his old man?"

I thought about it for a moment. "He hates him, that's for sure. But no, I don't think he'd do that. That'd be too easy. He wants to see him rot in prison. Besides, when I left him last night he was ready to pass out."

"Could've hired it done."

"Doesn't seem like the type to me."

"They never do."

"I'll check into it."

I hung up from Dan and flicked through my contacts. Marco had called me from his phone to leave the number, but I hadn't entered it yet. I picked the one I was pretty sure was his and hit the call button. It rang four times and went to voice mail. I called again. On the third try, Marco answered with a groan.

"Ummm, ye-ah?" He murmured, his tongue thick.

"Marco?"

A yawn. "This is Marco, who's this?"

"Marco? It's Raylan Givens. Where are you?"

"Huh? Home. In bed. God, what time is it?"

"No one called you about the fire?"

"Hold on." I heard a clunk and water running, then a toilet flushed. "What are you talking about?" Marco said, his voice clearer.

"There was a fire at your father's place in Miami last night. Police suspect arson."

"Is he dead?"

"No. Do you wish he was?"

There was a long silence. "It would be easier, I suppose, but no. I'd rather put him away." "That's what I told my old boss when he asked if I thought you were behind it."

"Thanks, I guess."

"I got some other news." I told him about Glen.

"I'm glad he's okay. I made some contacts I gotta tell him about. We need to meet. Not here."

"And not here, either," I said. I didn't want to make Winona a target again.

"There's a restaurant on your way here from the island; The Salty Dog. Just come straight down Gulf of Mexico Drive. It's on the left, not far from the marina, just before you cross the last bridge. It's real popular. We can blend right in with the lunch crowd. I'll meet you and Walt there at noon."

"Okay."

"And don't wear the hat," Marco said.

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

Winona set down her coffee and looked me over when I emerged from the bedroom. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand, suppressing a giggle. "I think those legs of yours just might glow in the dark."

"What?" I glanced down. The khaki cargo shorts Glen dug out of a drawer did emphasize that I hadn't been lounging on any beaches lately. I shifted from one foot to the other under her gaze, not used to feeling self-conscious. "Maybe I should just wear jeans."

"That might be better," she agreed. "What happened to the jean shorts you got when you searched Glen's closet the first time?"

"He's got me by about twenty pounds. They were huge on me. These were too small for him so he thought they might work." I lifted the hem of the t-shirt to show her.

"You might want to wear a belt. It'd be embarrassing if those just slipped off your hips and fell to the floor."

I slid her a grin. "I thought it was fashionable these days to show your underwear."

"For teenage boys and gangsta rappers, not 40-year-old fathers-to-be." But she smiled back before she started in on my other wardrobe choice. "The Grateful Dead? How old is that shirt? Aren't they all really dead by now?"

"Just Jerry Garcia," Glen answered for me, walking into the kitchen. "I got that shirt at a concert in 1972. With his long hair, I thought it best to go for the throwback hippy look."

"That look is just going to have to work with jeans," I said. Glen shook his head, but I felt more like myself once I changed.

When I came back to the kitchen Winona was standing by the sink. She winced, arching her back and putting a hand at the base of her spine.

"What's the matter? Your back botherin' you?" I said.

"Yeah," she nodded. "It was hurting when I woke up. I must've slept wrong."

I stepped up behind her and rubbed gently, pressing the heel of my hand against her lower back.

She leaned into my hand and closed her eyes. "That feels good."

"Your mama keeps a heating pad under the sink in our bathroom," Glen said. He reached into the cupboard for a coffee cup, his eyes drifting sideways to Winona. "Have you...uh...talked to her this morning?"

Winona shook her head. "No. She hasn't called. I'll just go over to Judy's in a bit."

"Tell her I'm sorry." he sighed. "I wish..." He smacked a hand on the counter. "Dammit." Stella gave a whine and he patted her head. "Sorry, girl."

"Give her some time," Winona said. "She's only just found out about all of this."

"So've you," Glen said. "But you're dealing with it."

"I'm not in love with you. And, I had my suspicions that something was up." She dropped her gaze and busied herself wiping down the counter.

Glen stared at her, then at me. I shrugged. "She has good instincts."

"I'd better walk Stella here. Come on, girl." Glen took his coffee and Stella trotted behind him out the door onto the deck.

"Maybe you should take it easy today," I said. I went back to kneading her back, and I felt her hitch a breath. "What?"

"It's nothing," she said. "Just one of those fake contractions. I'm fine." She pulled away and took her coffee from the counter. "But you're right. I think I will rest today."

"Good." I leaned down and she turned her face up for a kiss.

She brushed the hair back from my face. "I think it's time for a haircut, Cowboy."

"Why? I was thinkin' of maybe wearin' it in a ponytail." I joked.

Her eyes flashed. "Don't you dare."

"Okay," I chucked and kissed her again. "I'll get it cut here as soon as things settle down."

Her brow furrowed. "Be careful today, okay?"

"We're just talkin'."

"Yeah, but I know you."

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

The Salty Dog was just off the main road, tucked onto a strip of land that jutted out into the water across from the MOTE Aquarium. Marco was already waiting for us at a high top table on the outside deck. He waved us over and I watched as the waitress set a beer down and scooped up the empty bottle in front of him.

She was back moments later, ponytail bouncing. "I'm Jilly," she said. "What can I get you?"

The specialty was deep fried hot dogs. Glen ordered two, with fries and all the fixings. I opted for the grouper sandwich and onion rings. Marco got a burger. We all ordered beers. Number three for Reyes. Not that I was counting.

Once Jilly went off with our order Glen didn't waste any time. "You drink too much, kiddo," he said to Marco.

"Yeah, I know." Marco took another long pull on his beer and stared out over the water. "And you know why. Now that you've screwed things up with Pilar we're never gonna get Gio."

Glen sighed. "We weren't gonna get him if she was the one arranging things anyway. We gotta get Pilar outta the picture, then maybe Gio will step in himself."

Jilly dropped off our beers. "Food'll be out in just a sec," she said.

I took a quick sip of beer and set the bottle down. "I can get that done." They stared at me. "My connection in Miami can find something to pick her up on."

Marco snorted. "Gio'd have her out in a couple of hours."

I shrugged. "Paperwork can get lost. It's Thursday. If we can get her tomorrow and work a couple of snafus, that would keep her out of commission until courts open on Monday. That gives us the weekend to get to Gio."

Now Marco turned to Glen. "I talked to Eddie. It's a go for tomorrow night if you still think we can pull this off."

"Who's Eddie?"

Marco had already taken a bite of his burger. He washed it down with the last of his beer and swallowed. "Eddie has a fishing boat he hires out. With the recession, he's really in over his head and he's anxious to make some extra money. When Glen approached him about his 'import' idea, he jumped at the chance."

"If this goes down. I don't wanna go after him," Glen said. "He's a decent enough guy. He's just desperate."

The waitress brought our food and Marco ordered a fourth beer. Glen shot me a look.

I held out my hand to Marco, palm up. "Car keys," I said.

"Huh?"

"Hand 'em over. It's no business of mine if you wanna drink yourself into a stupor, but you're not drivin' anywhere."

Marco fished in his pocket and handed his keys to me. Then he held up his hand to flag down the waitress. "Might as well have something stronger, then," he said. "Bring me a vodka on the rocks instead of that beer."

Jilly nodded and headed toward the bar. My cell phone buzzed in his pocket. "Just a sec," I said, moving to the railing. I faced the water and answered.

"Raylan?" It was Winona's number on the screen, so Elaine's voice surprised me.

"What's goin' on?"

"You need to get to the hospital. It looks like Winona's in labor. They're trying to stop it. They took her back and the doctor hasn't come out yet. I'm not sure what's going on."

Elaine said it all so quickly it was hard to absorb. "Labor? She was fine when I left." I slapped a twenty on the table. "I gotta go," I said to Glen.

"All that back pain she was having was the start of it," Elaine explained.

"It's too early," I said. "The baby..."

"The baby weighs around four pounds, they think, and at 30 weeks the doctor isn't too worried about her lungs. She might have to be in an incubator for awhile but..."

I got to the Lincoln and slid in, starting the engine and spitting gravel as I pulled out of the parking lot. "How's Winona?"

"She's pretty upset. I know she'll feel better when you get here."

She gave me directions to the hospital and ten minutes later I pulled up to the emergency entrance. I left the Lincoln double parked beside the door. Let 'em tow it.


End file.
